Aftershock
by Jane Poirot
Summary: Desyat Negrityat, AU: Just when the biggest earthquake ended, a series of little earthquakes began, violently disrupting the lives of two individuals who each think the other wronged them. But who is truly innocent and who is truly guilty?
1. After The End

1

**After The End**

**Disclaimer: Nothing related to ATTWN—not even the Russian movie version, which this fic is based on—belongs to me. Some may protest to seeing an AU of the one version that gets it right, but oh well; you can't please everybody.**

The atmosphere of the office was cold and stifling. The only sound was that of the clock hanging on the wall going _tick-tock._ Two men sat across one another, trying to make eye contact, but inadvertently avoiding it. One of those two men was an accused rapist, who denied having ever done anything wrong. The other was the man's lawyer, who had no desire to know of his client's innocence or guilt.

The lawyer, Carl Hutchins, cleared his throat. He looked away from the circled red date on the calendar—which clearly indicated today was the nineteenth of September—and into the eyes of his client and said, "So, Mr. Lombard, the good news is, you still have plenty of time to prepare yourself for the trial, which will be held off until sometime in early spring. It may take longer than that, but these cases vary."

Philip Lombard could only say stiffly, "Well, that's good, I suppose." _Good for someone who was accused of rape by some bitch who doesn't enjoy rough sex, that is,_ he mentally added.

He felt the need to say something: "I assure you that this is all just one big misunder—"

"Please," said Mr. Hutchins, holding up a hand. "I request that you not tell me of your innocence or guilt."

"Why?" asked Lombard. "To make your job easier?"

Mr. Hutchins smiled faintly. "No, Mr. Lombard," he said. "To make my _life_ easier."

Vera Claythorne wished to be anywhere but where she was at this particular moment: In the office of her lawyer, Michael James, going over how difficult the trial proceedings may or may not be. Apparently, there were so many things that _could_ go wrong. She was beginning to wonder what the use of pressing charges had been if it was going to be this difficult.

"So...so they could just let him off?" she said. "Just because there weren't any _witnesses?"_

"They could," said Mr. James. "This is one of those trials that may be won or lost. On the one hand, there is enough evidence to show that intercourse did indeed take place, and that it was most certainly _not_ gentle; on the other, his lawyer may argue that you consented to it and that things only got a bit out of hand."

"What's the use, then?" said Vera bitterly. "If he's just going to say it was _my_ fault, and the judge believes it?"

"I know this all sounds discouraging," said Mr. James gently. "But I assure you, the physical evidence will be enough to bring this case to trial, which is a _huge _accomplishment. Everything else is left in the hands of fate. Just _relax._ You should anyway, given your condition."

Vera's hand rested on her flat stomach. She had found out just last week, after visiting the doctor, who had informed her that her vomiting, fatigue, overly-emotional state, and missed period was not from stress, but from pregnancy. Even so, she hadn't entirely taken the news in. She just walked on through in an almost dazed state, not taking the realization that she would soon be responsible for a new life into mind or heart. "Right," she said. "My condition."

"Have you given any thoughts as to what you will do?" asked Mr. James. "I understand being pregnant under such circumstances must be horrible for a young woman."

_How could you understand? _thought Vera angrily. _How can you say that when you yourself have never gone through what I'm going through?_

Outside, she said, "No, not really. I'm still in shock."

"Do you have any more questions?" asked Mr. James.

_Yes: Why did I have to leave my room? Why couldn't I have just stayed where I was instead of wandering off to his room and get myself...and why is it that I can say the word out loud when reporting him, but I can never say it in my head? Why am I so weak? And what should I do about the baby? I can't be a mother, but I can't abort it, nor can I give it up. What to do?_

"No," said Vera, shaking her head.

"Very well," said Mr. James. "You may go."

Vera silently got up from the wooden chair and made her way across the room and to the door. She was barely aware of the cold, hard brass her hand was turning until she was already out of the room and into the hall, where her mother had been pacing back and forth.

"Well, sweetie?" she said. "What did he say?"

_He said there's basically no hope of the man who did this to me ever getting convicted, so I might as well drop the charges now and save myself the embarrassment._

"He said this may be a difficult trial," said Vera.

Mrs. Claythorne gave Vera a sympathetic smile. "Do you want to go home now?" she said. "Or would you rather go elsewhere in town, to temporarily take your mind off this?"

_Yes. To heaven and permanently take my mind off this._

"Home," said Vera. "I feel tired."

Mrs. Claythorne gently took her daughter by the hand, the only area she allowed to be touched, and the two women began to walk down the hall.

* * *

Lombard took a walk down the stone steps and inhaled the autumn air of the late morning. He had his worries, yes, but he kept telling himself that this was just another challenge he could overcome without so much as a scratch. After all, if he could survive Nigger Island, then he could survive anything!

Lombard laughed and thought, _Thank God Morley was willing to come bail me out._ His first sixteen hours off the island had been spent in a jail cell. It wasn't as bad an experience as he had expected, but it was still infuriating to think he had ended up there all because of a stupid misunderstanding.

Obviously, Vera Claythorne was a troubled young woman...but to actually accuse him of _rape..._

"May the bitch get what's coming to her," he muttered before taking the long walk home.

* * *

Vera stared out the car window, trying to take her mind off her nausea while her mother drove. It was funny, how she had never taken the time to stop and notice the world around her—how it looked as she passed by in her car. Then again, she couldn't really take her eyes off the road.

Even so, when driving, couldn't she at least have appreciated the cars ahead of her?

No, of course she didn't; she was too busy envying the happy couples who walked down the streets and held hands and whispered sweet nothings to one another.

Selfish her.

"I know this is difficult for you," said Mrs. Claythorne suddenly. "But I think we should eventually talk about it."

_How oxymoronic of you, mother. To first say you know how difficult this is for me and then say you think we should talk about it. It just goes to show: You really don't know how difficult this is for me at all._

"I'd rather not," said Vera, her attention focused on the passing trees.

Mrs. Claythorne only said to that, "Well, when you're ready to talk, let me know."

Vera counted seven cars passing by.

* * *

Lombard slammed the door shut as he made his way into his house. He knew this wasn't that big a challenge, he knew this was just another potentially damaging obstacle he'd be able to overcome with barely a scratch...but why have to face it at all?

He marched into the kitchen and began to prepare himself lunch when he heard a knock on the door. Deciding to leave lunch for later, he walked back over to the door. He was neutral towards the person standing in the doorway.

"Morley," said Lombard courteously.

"Lombard," replied Charles Morley, his voice as smooth as his dark hair. He had been the one to come bail Lombard out, for Lombard knew instinctively Morley would presume his innocence. Even so, Lombard got the feeling Morley was having his doubts.

"I was just making myself some lunch," said Lombard. "Care to come in?"

Morley walked in as Lombard closed the door behind him. "So, how'd the meeting go?" asked Morley.

Lombard walked into the kitchen. "It went all right," he said. "Hutchins appears to be just as good a lawyer as you made him out to be, even if he's like the rest who presumes me guilty," he added bitterly.

"I should've warned you," sighed Morley. "Hutchins is an absolutely brilliant lawyer, but he is also a decent person. You see, Hutchins is a good man who became a lawyer simply to prevent innocent men from going to the gallows. However, I've also heard he was on the drink for quite some time a couple years ago."

Lombard raised an eyebrow. The sandwiches were almost done. "You don't say," he said slyly.

"It was the Stevenson case," said Morley. "The one with the child murderer. He had made the mistake of allowing his client to inform him of his guilt beforehand. It didn't affect his performance in court any less, but it affected his personal life a great deal. Even when Stevenson was found guilty and executed, he had trouble forgiving himself for defending a child murderer. He's sober now, but he refuses to know of his client's innocence or guilt ever since. So don't take it personally; that's just how he _is."_

"Good to know," said Lombard stiffly, giving Morley his sandwich.

_Just my luck,_ thought Lombard bitterly as he took a bite out of his sandwich. _Of all the lawyers, I get one who is sentimental. Just my luck._

* * *

"Do you feel nauseous, dear?" asked Mrs. Claythorne as she and Vera made their way inside Vera's house, which was small but liveable.

"A bit," admitted Vera. "But I'll get over it soon."

"Just lie down for now," said Mrs. Claythorne, leading Vera over to her couch and laying her down. While Vera was lying down, Mrs. Claythorne asked, "So? Is Mr. James as good a lawyer as Evelyn said he was?"

_Maybe he would be, if there weren't so much that could go wrong, so what's the use of having a good lawyer at all?_

"He seems like it," said Vera. "He is at least very intelligent, which I suppose is good."

Mrs. Claythorne smiled. "Better to have an intelligent lawyer than an imbecile one to represent you in court," she said.

Vera closed her eyes and slowly breathed in and out. The wave of nausea disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. Her eyelids fluttered open. She yawned, "I think I'm going to go take a shower."

"Do you want me to prepare lunch?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"No," said Vera, getting up off the couch. "Afterwards, I think I'll take a nice, long nap."

And God only knew, she _needed_ it.


	2. Pain and Shame

2

**Pain and Shame**

The water from the shower nozzle came beating down on Vera's skin. First, it was ice cold, and then it gradually became lukewarm, not that Vera cared.

Vera grabbed the bar of soap and began scrubbing. She scrubbed at her thighs, her breasts, her arms, her stomach—everywhere she felt his mark. She scrubbed and scrubbed in attempt to cleanse the filth she felt all over. She scrubbed until her skin turned red.

Letting out a cry of frustration, Vera threw the soap bar down on the floor.

"Vera?" called out her mother's voice. "Is everything all right?"

"The soap slipped out of my hands," Vera called out. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Okay," said her mother's voice.

Vera closed her eyes and sighed, leaning against the blue tile walls. She ran one hand through her damp hair and thought, _How did this happen to me?_

_You know how,_ said her rational side. _It happened to you when you murdered Cyril, when you stripped down to nearly nothing, when you showed up at his room._

Vera opened her eyes and took a step back into the water pouring down. She shivered, suddenly feeling cold. Her eyes shifted and she began to think back...back to the night that would forever change her life...

* * *

_Vera silently walked down the upstairs hall to Lombard's room. She had some memory of where it was after seeing him and the other guests retreat to their rooms many times during the night._

_Cyril was here. He was alive and waiting for her in Lombard's room. He hadn't drowned after all; he just got lost at sea and had been waiting in this house for her all this time! Why, he was waiting in Lombard's room for her this very minute! She couldn't deny it; she heard his laughter, his feet slapping the ground as it had slapped the sand running down to the ocean..._

_At last, Vera made it to the door where Cyril's laughter was at its loudest before falling silent. Oh, he was just being shy; he was waiting for her on the other side. And when she saw him...well first off, she'd apologize for what she had done and explain why she had done what she had done. Then she'd lecture him for being so naughty and tell him to never again scare his poor mother like that. Finally, she'd wait by his side for the boat to arrive and she would take him home to his family, where his mother would shed tears of joy, and Hugo would forgive her..._

_This in mind, she rapped on the door and said, "Mr. Lombard."_

_There was no response._

_Vera knocked on the door repeatedly and said, "Mr. Lombard, Mr. Lombard, it's me. Open up."_

_The door opened and she was pulled into his room by the wrist. The next thing she knew, she was standing in the middle of Philip Lombard's bed room._

"_What happened?" said his voice._

_Vera saw him. She didn't like his tone of voice. It wasn't nasty, but it wasn't sweet, either. It was...calm. Unnaturally calm. She said slowly, "I don't know."_

_Lombard took Vera's candle out of her hand and put it down. Another thing she did not like about him at the moment was the way his eyes were seizing her up. It was as though he could see right through her._

"_You have to drink something, Miss Claythorne," said Lombard in the same, calm voice that made Vera's heart pound just a few beats quicker than it should._

_Cyril wasn't here. He was dead, dead and gone. And here she was, standing in his room, nearly naked. What must he think of her now!_

"_I'm scared," said Vera quietly, shaking a bit. "I'm scared, Mr. Lombard I'm scared."_

_She felt a glass being placed into her hand. "Drink," whispered Lombard, bringing the glass up to her lips. "You'll feel better."_

_Vera gulped down what was being given to her, but she didn't like it. It burned her throat and tasted bitter._

"_Drink, drink, Miss Claythorne," whispered Lombard._

_Was it Vera's imagination, or had he placed one hand on her shoulder?_

"_It's important to get through the night," Lombard whispered on. "Then the nightmare will disappear. Take it easy."_

_It was now that Vera realized she had stopped drinking...and that her coat was halfway down her shoulders._

_He thought she wanted to sleep with him. Well, she was going to set this straight before it went any further. She was going to apologize for bothering him and return to her room._

"_My God, what am I doing?" Vera whispered. She slowly turned in Lombard's direction and said, "Mr. Lombard..."_

_But then he brought his mouth down on hers. His breath stank of whiskey...and his hands were undressing her, removing her bra..._

"_Let everything happen," whispered Lombard, his hands caressing her back._

_No. This was not happening. She was not losing her virginity, not here, not now, not to some man she barely knew._

"_Mr. Lombard," she tried to say, trembling with fear. He picked her up and carried her near the bed, continuing to remove her undergarments._

"_Mr. Lombard—Mr. Lombard," she stammered, doing whatever she could to stop him. At the same time, the thought of what he might do if she resisted lingered in her mind. Was he the killer? Would he kill her if she refused to please him? Or would he kill her anyway once he was done with her? All this ran through her mind in the time period of five seconds._

"_I'll—I'll scream!" she burst out trying to push him off. But he grabbed her by the shoulders and when she tried to get out of his iron grasp, the two fell on bed, he on top of her. Within two seconds, her underwear was practically ripped off and he was unzipping his pants._

"_No!" she gasped. But it was too late...before she could do anything, he was inside her._

_First, she felt nothing. Then, it was as though the brick wall weighing her down had a dagger that sunk deep, deep down into flesh that had already been burned, flesh that had already stood the testament of a thousand stings, virgin flesh that lost its beauty once touched._

_Vaguely aware of the glass that had fallen out of her hand, she gasped. He was heavy, she couldn't get him off even if she had the courage...so heavy..._

"_Scream," said Lombard coldly, climbing further on top of her. "You came to me almost naked and then you'll scream. That's stupid."_

_Vera could do nothing. She could only lie there and take this horrible pain, which only grew stronger...she wanted to scream, to cry out, but her potential screams formed a lump in her throat. It was true. She had come to his room wearing nearly nothing. If she screamed, well, who would hear her first of all? The doctor and Blore were in their rooms. Even if someone did hear her, they'd think she was a foolish slut._

"_Really everything is so stupid," she muttered, silently praying for someone—anyone—to come in and save her, knowing all the while it was in vain._

_The pain grew worse and worse, but her shame silenced her screams. It dried her tears._

_She had hoped for her first time to be full of love and joy—and with Hugo, back when they were together; he was good enough to respect her values and let her keep her virginity till her wedding night. Instead, it was a nightmare, full of pain and shame._

_His hands were moving...all over her body...they were removing some of his clothes before destroying her virgin beauty...skin that had never before been touched or caressed was now being tainted by his touch..._

_He was getting off of her and lying next to her, though she barely noticed. Even when he was out, she could still feel the horrible, terrible pain. She was shaking all over, not believing it was done, not believing she was no longer a virgin thanks to this moment._

"_Satisfied?"_

_Vera slowly turned to face Lombard, who had a grin on his face, which infuriated her. He had taken some sort of twisted pleasure in her suffering? He was happy to hurt her?_

_Still shaking, Vera whispered, "How could you?"_

"_How could I what?" asked Lombard, smiling, playing with her hair. "How could I grant you what you asked for?"_

"_I asked for nothing, and you know it," hissed Vera._

"_You know you don't mean that," said Lombard, stroking her cheek. "You know you wanted it."_

"_I never wanted it," whispered Vera sharply. "I never wanted to be forced to—"_

"_Forced?" interrupted Lombard, laughing. "Vera, how can it be 'force' if you came to me, if you knocked on my door and asked to be let in, if you showed up wearing nearly nothing? Tell me, Vera, is that force?"_

_Vera was at a loss for words._

_Lombard smirked. "That's what I thought." He placed one hand on her back and smoothly ran it up and down on her bare flesh in a way that made Vera feel uncomfortable. She drew in a sharp breath and whimpered slightly._

"_Relax," whispered Lombard, closing his eyes. "Don't be afraid."_

_Vera was still shaking when she finally realized he was fast asleep. She wanted to get up and get dressed, to go back to her room and go to sleep so it would be nothing more than a nightmare._

_But something held her back. It was a fear...a fear of running into the murderer, if it was not Lombard...a fear of someone spotting her coming out of his room and that someone judging her..._

_Vera pulled the covers as far up as she could until her shaking arms stopped her. She rolled over on her back. Nothing was going through her mind. She wasn't feeling anything from what had just happened. Her mind was still blank._

_Vera lay there and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her breathing and the breathing of the man beside her. She stared until her eyes felt too heavy to keep themselves open. And somehow, but she didn't know how, she fell fast asleep._

* * *

Vera turned off the shower. She gently placed one foot out before grabbing the towel and taking it inside to wrap around her body...if she could really call it _her_ body anymore.

As she dried herself off, she flinched. She did not feel the soft fabric; she felt a pair of hands dirtying her skin, destroying its beauty, holding her down...

Frustrated, she thrust on her white bathrobe and firmly tied it up. She was shaking with disturbance, and from a terrible nausea that threatened to overcome her...

Realizing what was about to happen, Vera quickly bent down, lifted up the toilet lid, leaned over, and began to retch. She felt her stomach twist as its contents emptied into the toilet. Her throat burned and she had a bitter taste in her mouth...just like that night...

When she was done, she realized she had been clutching the seat so tight, her knuckles were white. She pulled off a piece of toilet paper to wipe some of the leftover vomit off her mouth and tossed that in before flushing. She felt too weak and dizzy to stand up, so she leaned her head against the wall and took a few deep, shaky breaths to calm herself down, thinking of what had come next mere hours after her unborn child's conception...

* * *

_When Vera finally did wake up, she had woken up with almost no difficulty. She felt as though she had been sleeping for three days, when in truth, she had probably only slept for a few hours. She wasn't sure of the time, but she was sure that this was not her room..._

_Vera heard yawning and turned to see Lombard slowly opening his eyes. He grinned when he saw her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, whispering, "I love you."_

_Not sure what to make of that, Vera sat up in bed, not caring that the covers were coming down showing her immodesty. Her long hair covered up her breasts anyway, so she supposed it didn't really matter._

"_Take it easy, Miss Claythorne," said Lombard, beginning to sit up himself._

_Vera wasn't sure what to make of this situation. Finally, she said, "If it's one of them, who do you think it is?"_

_Lombard's reply was, "I take it that you exclude us? I totally agree with you. I know that I'm not a murderer, and you're behaving normally."_

"_Thank you," said Vera awkwardly, turning away._

"_Miss Claythorne, won't you return my compliment back to me?" said Lombard's voice, all of a sudden polite and gentlemen like in spite of the circumstances._

"_You confessed that you don't value life," said Vera slowly. "But it's difficult for me to imagine that you recorded that tape."_

"_You're right," said Lombard considerately. "Mass punishment of sinners is not my business. Please give me a match from the box in my drawer."_

_Vera reached over to pull open the drawer...and froze. She looked back over at Lombard before looking back into the drawer._

_There was the gun. Plain as day._

_She looked back again. This time, Lombard was staring over her shoulder._

_He's going to kill me, she realized. He has pleased himself with me and now he is going to kill me._

_Frightened, she grabbed her panties from the bed and yanked them back on before getting up out of bed, ignoring Lombard's cries of, "Vera, wait!"_

_Not caring that he could see her in such an immodest state, Vera bent down to the floor and grabbed as much of her undergarments as she could find and ran into Lombard's bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her._

_Panting as though she had just run away from a fearsome and mighty hunter, Vera walked across to the center of the bathroom, which was a bit small for her liking. She turned and saw the bathtub. Vera suddenly had a strong urge to climb right into it and cleanse herself, to rid herself of this filth she felt all over. She began to place one foot in the bathtub, but was struck with a sudden thought: What if this was Lombard's plan? What if he had called out to her using Cyril's voice just so he could lure her here, please himself with her, and then allow her to use the bathtub, which he had earlier rigged so scalding hot water would pour right through and burn her skin?_

_A red herring swallowed one indeed._

_She lifted that foot out of the tub and onto the ground. Deciding not to foolishly waste her time one more minute, she got dressed, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. She opened the door and took a few steps out...and then she saw Lombard wearing his robe, walking towards her._

_Taking one step back, Vera sharply whispered, "Don't come near me; I'll scream!"_

"_I'm ready to scream myself," replied Lombard calmly. "I assure you, this gun was put back with great stealth. It's a surprise for me as much as is for you."_

_There was a knock on the door. Lombard walked up to the dresser and took the gun. He gestured for Vera to stay where she was. She took a few steps closer to the bathroom, waiting for the conversation between the two men to burn out. She could hear them talking about Armstrong missing, asking where Vera was..._

_When Vera heard Blore calling out if she was there, she said, "Yes," without thinking. It wasn't until the word had escaped her lips that she realized Blore now knew of her shame, of what had happened. She heard Lombard mentioning something about how something was natural._

_When he came back in, he said, "Vera." He threw her coat over to her and she caught it. "We're going after Armstrong," he said. "Don't open up to anyone. If the doctor appears and says we are both killed, don't pay any attention. Open only for me or Blore, understand?"_

_Vera nodded._

"_Good," said Lombard, putting on his coat and leaving, closing the door behind him._

_Here she was, trapped in his room for another few minutes, maybe even hours. Vera took a few steps forward and sat down on the bed, the bed where she had lost her virginity._

_She sighed and lay down. Something caught her eye and she turned towards it. It was a very light blood stain on the sheets where she had been when..._

_Recalling the many sex talks her cousin Fleta would occasionally give her just to drive her crazy as a teenager, Vera remembered one particular thing she had said: "Everyone bleeds the first time, you know; when my boyfriend back home and me did it for the first time, I was bleeding and crying, but you know what? It's perfectly natural, cause you're not dying or anything. It's just your hymen being broken, is all; means you're not a virgin, is all..."_

"_No," whispered Vera, tears forming in her eyes. "NO!"_

_She threw herself down on the pillow she had slept on and began to weep. She wept for the one thing she thought she still had, and would still have once she was off the island, but now had lost, leaving her with nothing but the weight of shame on her shoulders._

* * *

By now, Vera felt steady enough to get back on her feet. Flashbacks like this were not uncommon for her; if she was alone for too long, with nothing left to do but think, she would think back to that night, as well as the events that came after.

She turned and saw a woman in the mirror staring back at her. This woman could not be her; she had tangled hair, bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and an overall whore-like appearance.

She looked away from the stranger and opened the door a crack and called out, "Mother?"

"Yes?" said her mother's voice.

"I'm done now," she said. "Could you please get a nightgown for me?"

"Just one minute," said her mother.

Vera slowly stretched out one hand. She didn't want to have anything even _close_ to nudity around _anyone,_ not even her own mother who had seen her naked since birth. It would only further prove their suspicions that she was nothing more than a dirty, stupid whore who seduced drunken men. She knew deep down this was indeed what she was at heart, and nothing more, but there was no reason to let anyone else on about it, now was there? She wanted her mother to be proud of her for _something._

Vera felt a soft fabric being placed into her hands. "Thank you," she said, closing the door. She changed in the best way she could without having to look at her body either by herself or through the mirror.

She wasn't sure exactly _how _far along she was; she hadn't paid much attention to all the details in the doctor's office, but she did know she'd at least be three months along by October. What to do then? Tell everyone the truth and let them see her for who she truly was? Or lie and allow everyone to think this baby had come from a moment of passion, which would somehow make its way back to Lombard's lawyer and be used against her in court?

The possibility of abortion crossed her mind several times. It seemed like the perfect solution; no one but she and her family would ever know, and she would have only the trial to worry about. But even if she wasn't catholic, abortion still went against her moral ethics. It was just _wrong_. She had always thought life began at conception. She had always viewed abortion as murder, as the kind of sin that not even a priest could save you from.

That, of course, was before she was...before her innocence was stolen and replaced with some creature whose vitality she wasn't completely sure of.

She was not scared by horror stories of girls dying from botched abortions; by now, death would come as a relief to her. But supposing she _lived_, would she be able to live with herself for what she had done? She had already made herself a murderer when she killed Cyril, she knew that much. Would abortion solidify it? Or would her dire circumstances forgive her for it?

Vera smoothed out the front of her nightgown and opened the bathroom door. She walked down the hall and to her bedroom. She got into bed and pulled the covers up to her neck, closing her eyes and gently breathing in and out.

She sensed someone standing over her, so she opened her eyes and saw her mother.

Mother...she had been so _kind_...unlike her father, who pretended to be concerned at the police station and put on a lovely act that he wanted the hide of the man who hurt his precious baby, who would call in every day to check on her and make sure she was all right...and then as soon as her mother phoned to tell him Vera was pregnant, he never made any sort of contact again.

He was ashamed of her. He knew it was entirely her fault. He never said so, but she _knew._ Her mother, on the other hand, had been nothing but kindness ever since she found out. While her father stayed behind allegedly to take care of the house and secure a job, her mother came over and stayed. She said she wanted to help Vera recover from this in the best possible way and vowed to stay "As long as you need me".

"Are you sure you're all right?" asked Mrs. Claythorne bending down beside her.

"I'm fine, mother, really," muttered Vera.

"It's just that you never really _talk _about it," said Mrs. Claythorne slowly. "I know I should let you talk when you're ready, but...it's hard for me to see you suffer in silence, baby."

Her voice was cracking, leaving Vera with a tight feeling in her throat. She really did want to talk about it, she wanted to let all her feelings out, but then a nagging voice would remind her it was no good complaining about something that was entirely her fault, and like her screams that night, her feelings would get caught in her throat. How could she make her mother understand that?

"Just leave me alone," whispered Vera. "Please."

Her mother flinched and stood up. "All right," she said. "Call if you need me."

Vera closed her eyes and waited for her mother to leave. She felt a pair of hands all over her..._all over her..._

Tears that burned her cheeks poured down Vera's face and she cried herself to sleep, feeling pain and shame.


	3. Innocence or Guilt

3

**Innocence or Guilt**

Lombard gulped down two aspirin in his bathroom. He had a pounding headache that practically threatened to split his head open. Part of him assumed he was coming down with a head cold, but the other part knew it was most likely from the fear of the outcome of the trial. He kept telling himself not to worry, that it was months away and Vera would probably admit she was the one at fault by then, but he kept worrying.

Supposing he actually _lost..._supposing Vera still went through with taking him to court...supposing his lawyer got soft hearted and didn't do an adequate job...supposing the judge actually found him _guilty..._

These thoughts did nothing to ease Lombard's headache, so he went to his room to lie down, hoping for it to go away. He would not allow himself to look back on...what happened. He didn't _need_ to. He _knew_ he was innocent; he _knew_ what _really_ happened; Vera was scared and needed something to comfort her, so she went to his room hoping to find solace in his arms, and he only got a bit rougher than he had intended to, which scared her and made her think she was being raped.

That was all.

And yet, he couldn't help but think back to what happened when he and Vera were rescued...

* * *

_The two raced down the steps, the sound of crashing waves ringing in their ears. Neither was sure if it was the sun getting to them, or if it was just seaweed, but they saw something in the sea, and they both knew it._

_They finally stopped near the bottom and observed the object a bit closer..._

"_It's the boat," said Vera suddenly._

"_What?" said Lombard, looking up._

"_Out there," said Vera, pointing out to sea. "It's coming...for us..."_

_Lombard could barely believe his eyes. He had to be seeing things; he surely couldn't be seeing what he thought he was seeing...right?_

"_Good God," muttered Lombard. He looked back down to the object floating in the sea..._

_No, not an object...a person..._

"_Dr. Armstrong," whispered Vera._

_Dr. Armstrong. The person whom both he and Vera had believed was the murderer...and all this time..._

"_You know what this means, don't you, Vera?" said Lombard, looking up. "It's all over now. When that boat comes, your plan will be thwarted. Instead of killing me, like you intended, the boat will come and you will be tried and hanged. And then you will be seen for what you truly are: a cold-blooded murderess."_

"_No," said Vera, shaking her head. She had an inexpressible look on her face, which frightened Lombard somewhat. What was she thinking? "I am not a murderer."_

"_What about Cyril?" asked Lombard coldly. "Were you telling us the truth when we discussed the accusations against us? Were you really?"_

"_Indeed I was," said Vera in a shaky voice. "I never laid a hand on him, never."_

"_That's because you let him swim out to sea, so of course you never laid a hand on him," said Lombard, a faint smile twitching on his lips. This girl actually thought she'd be able to charm her way out of this? "Congratulations, Vera. You are the most accomplished liar I know."_

_Vera flinched and stared out to sea at the gradually approaching boat. Lombard smirked and observed her with his eyes, just to make sure she wasn't planning on doing anything funny. He had to admit, in spite of everything, she still looked quite attractive as the damsel in distress she pretended to be. Even though she appeared to just be another animal in the zoo, she still caught his eye. And last night, he had seen far more than just her face, of course..._

_Lombard blinked and shook his head, getting the images out of his head. He had a good time, sure, but need he further complicate things by viewing the person who may very well kill him unless the boat came soon as the perfect woman to sleep with?_

_The sound of footsteps startled Lombard. He slowly turned around and for a moment, thought he was hallucinating. He tugged on Vera's arms, causing her to turn around as well. He snuck a peek on her face. Clearly, he was not hallucinating, for her face went white as a sheet._

"_You," she kept saying. "You."_

"_Yes, me," said Judge Wargrave, walking down the steps towards the pair. "Looks as though we don't have time left before the boat comes, now do we? See, it's almost here. Now why don't we just sit here and wait for it to come?"_

_Lombard could hardly believe he was actually seeing the judge leaning against the rocky surface casually. So he was the murderer. He had been the murderer all along._

"_I think you would both like to know why and how I did it, now wouldn't you?" said the judge amusedly. Not waiting for an answer, he said, "Well, during my years on the bench, I have overseen too many cases where innocent men are convicted, and guilty men are set free..."_

_As he launched into his monologue, Lombard's eyes were focused on only one thing: The boat now approaching the dock with a surprised looking boatman. Seizing the chance, he ran down to the docks and called out, "You came just in time!"_

_He turned and saw the judge still talking about how he did it all while Vera stood there, her face growing paler._

_So the judge could not hear him. Great._

"_My instincts told me something was not right," confessed the boatman, whose boat was now near enough to step in. "I had to come. Now what on Earth is going on?"_

"_It's a long story," sighed Lombard. "But to make it short, seven people have been killed and the judge did it all. Right now, he is blabbing about how and why he did it all and—"_

"_You."_

_Lombard turned around and saw Vera slowly walking up to him, pointing an accusatory finger right at him._

"_You," repeated Vera, in a stronger voice. "You."_

"_What did I do now?" asked Lombard irritably._

"_You," whispered Vera, shaking._

"_Whatever it is, we don't have the time," said Lombard calmly and patiently. "The boat is here and the nightmare is over. We can go back to the mainland now and have this maniac judge tried and—"_

_But before Lombard could finish that sentence, he was nearly shoved off the docks by Vera who screamed, "You...MONSTER!"_

"_Vera?" said Lombard curiously. "What did the judge tell you?"_

"_Nothing," said Vera in a quiet, cold voice. "He told me everything, but he doesn't know what you did."_

"_What are you talking about?" asked Lombard curiously._

_Vera was trembling, but had a furious look on her face._

"_What is it?" asked Lombard patiently._

_That was when Vera coldly made the declaration that would steer Lombard's life in a different direction: "You raped me."_

_Lombard frowned. What was she talking about? "What?" he said._

"_You...raped me," repeated Vera, her voice shaky. The next thing Lombard knew, he was down on his back on the docks with Vera standing above him shrieking like a mad woman: "YOU RAPED ME, YOU RAPED ME, YOU RAPED ME!"_

_The boatman, who had now tied the boat to the docks, stepped out and said, "Now Miss Claythorne, calm down."_

_Vera buried her face into the boatman's coat and sobbed, "He raped me, he raped me..."_

_Lombard got up on his feet. He had been drinking the night before, but that didn't mean he didn't remember what happened. Maybe it got a bit out-of-hand, but he certainly hadn't raped her. She came to his room. She was wearing nearly nothing. She hadn't said no...he thought. No, it couldn't be rape; Lombard had sailed near the wind on many occasions, but he knew better than to actually..._

"_Why am I not surprised?" spoke the judge, with a sly grin on his face. "When two animals are in heat, they make the most of the situation, even if it is without the female's consent."_

"_I did not rape her," said Lombard in a cold, hard voice. "I barely even touched her."_

"_Yes you did," spoke up Vera, looking up. "I can still feel your hands all over me..."_

_Her voice cracked, leaving Lombard with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he had made the most of it, but she wanted him to do it, right? And now here she was, turning on him and claiming she had been raped simply because she did not enjoy it as much as she thought she would._

"_Not every animal mates for procreation," the judge went on. "But because Miss Claythorne is a young, healthy woman at an age where she is at her most fertile, and Mr. Lombard would assume this was strictly business and therefore be caught unprepared, I would not be surprised if Miss Claythorne were expecting this very second."_

_Lombard' s face flushed hot, and from the looks of it, Vera was feeling just as embarrassed and angry as he was. She wasn't expecting, it was far too early to tell, but she just couldn't be..._

_Letting out a cry of anger, Vera whipped out Lombard's gun from his pocket and emptied its contents into the mad judge, who collapsed on the steps in a heap._

_It was now Vera's turns to collapse, weeping bitterly. Lombard felt like doing the same._

* * *

"Idiot boatman," muttered Lombard, his headache slowly fading away. He had tried to tell the boatman that Vera was just hysterical and didn't know what she was saying, but the boatman had insisted on telling the police anyway just to investigate and make sure.

Come to think of it, vehement denial had probably been a stupid thing to do. If Lombard had just kept his mouth shut, perhaps the boatman wouldn't have believed Vera over him. Perhaps he wouldn't have taken them both down to the police station and told the police what had happened.

Well, it was too late to think of what he should have done, for what was done was done.

Lombard heard knocking on his door. Groaning, he got up and walked out of his room, down the hall, and to the front door. He opened it and was startled by whom he saw.

"Mother," he said.

Carolina Lombard.

His _mother._

The last he had seen his mother had been at Morley's wedding where the two had had a falling out. Foolishly, he had shoved his own mother aside. He had never known his biological parents; he had lived in an orphanage ever since he was a baby. He thought he had missed his one chance to meet the woman who gave him up.

Until now.

"Charles called," she said, coming in and closing the door behind her. "He felt the need to tell me what was going on."

"What goes on in my life is none of Charles' concern," said Lombard coldly.

"It is if you're being accused of _rape," _said Carolina.

Lombard's heart sank. A week after the falling-out, he had received a letter from his mother explaining why she had to give him up: At seventeen, she had been raped by a drunkard and impregnated with Lombard. Her family refused to accept her, so she put him in an orphanage, hoping for him to have the best life. To hear her son being accused of the same crime committed against her must not have been extremely pleasant.

"Philip," said Carolina sternly, "I sincerely hope you didn't actually _rape_ that poor girl, especially not after what I said in my letter."

"Right," said Lombard quietly, remembering her exact words: _Rape is a horrible, __horrible__ thing to do to a woman and it is the absolute __worst__ thing you can do. It completely destroys a woman's self-worth, her soul. It takes a beautiful butterfly and crushes it and turns it into a withering moth. And if I ever hear of you doing this to another woman, I will deny having ever known you._

Lombard said, "Mother...what happened was...we were both scared. She came to me. We both needed something to, ah, calm us down. And that something was...well..." He looked off to the side. "I was panicking just as much as she was, so I may have gotten a bit rougher than I intended, but I can assure you, I most certainly did _not _rape her."

"And you're sure of that?" said Carolina quietly.

"I am positive," said Lombard, looking his mother in the eye. "She may have gotten scared and _thought_ I raped her, but this is all just one big misunderstanding that will get cleared up in court. I am absolutely _nothing_ like my father. You believe me, don't you?"

"I'm not sure what to believe right now," said Carolina slowly.

"Believe _me,"_ insisted Lombard. "I'm your _son._"

"Then promise me one thing," said Carolina. "Promise me that you will _try_ to empathize with this poor girl. She must've been frightened out of her mind to make such accusations."

Lombard knew he could never empathize with the bitch who put him in a position where no one, not even his own mother, was certain of his innocence or guilt. Out loud, he said only one thing:

"I promise."


	4. Decisions

4

**Decisions**

Vera woke up five hours later to the smell of chicken soup, causing her eyelids to flutter open. She saw her mother walking in with a tray that had a bowl of steaming chicken soup.

Chicken soup! Why, it had been ages since she last had a nice bowl of chicken soup! She could taste the carrots in her mouth now as she sat up in bed.

"I had a hunch you'd want chicken soup for supper," said Mrs. Claythorne, placing the tray down on the bed. "Wait a bit, first. It's still hot."

"It looks delicious, mother," remarked Vera.

"Why thank you, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne, beaming. Then, "Evelyn called. She said she'd like to come over a bit later just to chat. Would that be okay with you?"

"You know I always enjoy talking to Evelyn, mother," said Vera. "In fact, while I'm waiting for this to cool, why don't you call her over right now?"

"I will, baby," said Mrs. Claythorne, getting up. "Just give me one minute."

Vera sat there and waited for her mother to call Evelyn. Ever since she and Evelyn were very small, the two sisters had been close. They shared everything together (or almost everything on Vera's part); they would talk of their laughter, of their tears, and of their shared interests. Vera did not feel entirely comfortable talking with Evelyn about what had happened, but she enjoyed taking advantage of the opportunity to temporarily take her mind off what she was going through. The two would talk for hours before Evelyn had to leave. Once she left, Vera would be pulled back to reality and begin to cry.

The last time they had talked, they had not discussed the actual event itself, but Evelyn did promise she would get the information Vera wanted: Names of safe and affordable abortionists (even if Vera did not care if they were safe or not, Evelyn did), and adoption agencies that would provide the baby with a good home and as much disclosure as possible. Vera was still uncertain as to what she wanted; as far as she was concerned, she may find the information useless and keep the baby after all and somehow—though she didn't know _how_—make it all work. She just needed assurance that she wasn't trapped, that she still had open options.

Her mother knew _nothing_ of this, of course; even though she claimed she wanted Vera to make the decision that would make her happy, she knew her mother secretly wanted her to keep the baby. She never said so outright, but would drop various hints such as asking if Cecil was a good name for a boy, or stopping to point out various stores for baby clothes. Vera knew that if she were to abort the baby, or give it up for adoption, it would break her mother's heart, which was why she and Evelyn agreed to never let such conversations go past the room.

"Evelyn will be over in a few minutes," said Mrs. Claythorne, coming back into Vera's room. "She just needs to put Derek down for a nap."

Derek was the one-year-old son Evelyn had with her husband of four years, Richard Barclay. The two were very much in love, which would occasionally spark a twinge of jealousy from Vera, reminding her of what could have been for herself and Hugo.

"Derek's getting to be quite a handful now that he's old enough to start running around," remarked Mrs. Claythorne. "But I'm sure Evelyn will find time to come over."

Vera then said, "Mother...when Evelyn comes over, would you mind going out shopping for oranges? I'd really like some. Oh, and some chocolate cake, too."

This was not just an excuse to get her mother out of the house; Vera could practically taste the tangy, sweet fruit combined with the delightfully rich chocolate sensation.

"Having a craving, now are we?" said Mrs. Claythorne with a twinkle in her eye. "I understand perfectly, dear. When I was pregnant with you, all I could eat for the first four months was watermelon and apples. Anything else made me sick."

Vera picked up her spoon and very lightly dipped it into the broth.

* * *

Finally, Evelyn was over and Mrs. Claythorne was out shopping. The two sisters shared a resemblance, though it wasn't completely strong. Evelyn's hair was more of a mousy-brown and while her sister had the green eyes of their father, Evelyn had the dark, kind eyes of their mother. Evelyn was a very strong-willed woman who was willing to go any lengths for her family. Needless to say, she was not happy to learn about what had happened to her sister, and vowed to be there when Vera needed her.

"So, did you get the information?" asked Vera once she was sure it was safe to talk.

"I did indeed," said Evelyn, pulling a strip of paper out of her pocket. She preferred not to think of the strange looks she got from her various 'sources'. "On the front side are the names of two abortionists I looked up. The first one, who goes under the false name of 'Joanna Jones', charges at a fairly reasonable price, but I don't approve of her methods. The second one also goes under a pseudonym, Miss K. Her rate is a bit high, but her methods are fairly safe; you wouldn't suffer _too_ many complications from her. And anyway, I'd pay for it.

"The other side contains the list of two adoption agencies and the people to contact. Both usually place the children in good homes, and have full disclosure for both mother and child, and the adoptive family. Trying to see the baby afterwards, however, may be a tad bit difficult."

"Don't remind me," muttered Vera. "It's hard enough as it is, with mother trying to show me the 'miracle' of having a baby and all."

"I know," said Evelyn quietly. "But your situation...isn't exactly the cheeriest one in the world. I'm sure mother would understand if she knew. She'd have a harder time accepting it, but she _would_ understand."

"Why have to make this decision at all?" asked Vera, her eyes watering. "Why did this have to happen to me?"

"Oh, Vera," said Evelyn sympathetically, giving her sister some tissues. She understood Vera had no desire to be hugged; she had seen her reaction whenever their mother tried to get close to her. She just sat there and let her sister cry it out and held her hand.

Seeing her sister like this filled Evelyn with an unspeakable rage towards the bastard who did this to her sister. What right did he have to violate her like this? Who gave him permission to _ruin_ her sister's body and leave a mark on her? She still remembered when she had first been told where babies come from—the idea of _any_ of that man's bodily fluids being inside her sister, even for a few hours, made her stomach churn.

She sincerely hoped the lawyer she had recommended would be competent enough to make the judge see this man—if he truly _could_ be called a man, a term that would associate the likes of him with a human being—for who he truly was: a heatless bastard who cared little for the emotional scars he inflicted onto his victims. If not...then she would just have to take care of it herself. She did not care if it would risk her going to prison; if he was found not guilty, if the justice system would not deliver swift retribution, she would make him pay.

_Oh,_ how she would make him _pay._


	5. Dark Contemplations

5  
**Dark Contemplations**

One week came and went. Lombard and Vera's lives did not change for the better, or for the worse. They remained the same. It was the same routine every day.

Lombard's routine was to get up, have breakfast, get dressed, go around town with Morley to discuss various events in their lives all while avoiding Lombard's current situation, come home, have dinner, wash up, and go to bed.

This morning, there was a drastic change in the routine.

When Lombard stopped by Morley's house that morning, he was immediately greeted with a peculiar grin from Morley. "Jennifer's pregnant," were the first words to come out of his mouth. "We found out a few hours ago."

"Oh," said Lombard. "Well congratulations. I hope you're happy."

"Yes, we are," said Morley, smiling. "You wouldn't mind if I stayed home today, would you?"

_Yes, I would mind very much to see you in the life I could have had and probably would have to this day._

"No," said Lombard, forcing a grin. "Not at all. See you later."

"Bye," said Morley, closing the door.

The grin fell from Lombard's face. He groaned and took a walk through the neighbourhood, kicking the autumn leaves off the ground in a mixture of anger and disgust.

Jennifer...he had loved Jennifer. He had loved her with all his heart. She had nursed him back to health after that brush fire. And then...they fell in love. Jennifer was the world to Lombard.

And then...she got pregnant and left Lombard without ever telling him, and without him knowing, until months ago this year.

The resulting child, a boy named Chester, had a new father now. His name was Charles Morley. Morley had Jennifer. He had Chester. He had...everything.

And what did Lombard have? Nothing.

"The bastard," muttered Lombard. "That _lucky_ bastard," he spat out. "Here you are, married to the woman I once loved—and may still love—raising my son and preparing to have another child. And here I am, recovering from the weekend from hell and falsely accused of rape."

He realized now he had dug his fingernails into his palms. He relaxed his fists and walked a bit slowly, breathing in the wooden smell of burning leaves nearby. Some people were allergic to the smell, but Lombard loved it. It reminded him of the many places he had been, of all the things he had seen and touched and smelled. If only he could go back to those days! If only he could somehow escape all this...

But the weekend continued to haunt him in his mind. He absolutely refused to go through that psychological torture all over again, especially if it meant facing _another _false rape charge.

Lombard stopped on a bridge. He walked over to the rail and smiled at the leaves gently falling into the lake and resting, like the birds about to fly elsewhere. What those leaves must feel like! What it would feel like to take the same route as those leaves and jump right in...

Lombard slowly backed away from the rail, startled at such thoughts. He continued to walk forward, looking straight ahead. What had come over him all of a sudden? It wasn't like him to become suicidal at a time like this. Hope was not lost. There was still a chance he'd be found not guilty and be able to put this behind him. And he was not going to waste that chance.

* * *

Vera's routine was to get up, go to the bathroom to vomit, have a gentle breakfast, get dressed, go around town with her mother for a bit to take her mind off all this, take a shower, take a nap, have dinner, pull out the piece of paper just to look at the names once more, put the paper back, and spend the rest of the evening in bed until she finally cried herself to sleep.

This morning, there was a drastic change in the routine.

"Feeling better, dear?" said Mrs. Claythorne once Vera had come out of the bathroom, looking a bit green.

"A bit," admitted Vera. For some odd reason, she was feeling more sick today than she had for the past week. She currently did not have the urge to vomit, but the way last night's supper continued to sit in her stomach while half of it was in the toiler made her feel uneasy, which only made it worse. "Would it be okay if I went back to bed?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Claythorne quickly. "Whatever makes you happy."

Just as Vera began to head back for bed, Mrs. Claythorne remarked, "I once had a friend name Cecilia when I was a little girl. I was fond of her until she died of consumption. She was always in poor health. When she was alive, I envied her name. She would tell me Clara was just as pretty, but I often wished I had been named Cecilia, just like her. What do you think?"

Names...a name would be too much of a reminder of...the reality of this...

_Oh God..._

"Excuse me," said Vera quickly. She made a mad dash for the bathroom, this time slamming the door shut behind her. She leaned over the toilet and did her daily routine of bringing back up whatever she had the night before. Just like the day before, and the day before that...

It was all the same. It was never going to change. And no, not just the morning sickness...the shame, the haunting thought of what to do when she began to show—assuming she was still pregnant by then—and the turmoil she felt over her decision: She was entering a moral horizon if she aborted it, she was ruining any chances of putting the incident behind her if she kept it, to say nothing of the fact that she was almost certain she would make a terrible mother in her state, and if she were to make the fatal mistake of loving it, she would never get to see it again if she gave it up.

It was all the same.

"Not anymore," said Vera out loud once she was done. She flushed the toilet and stood up. She opened the medicine cabinet. Immediately, her eyes fell on the razor. She had been blessed with hardly ever getting hairy legs, so she seldom had to use it.

Now, she could think of a great use for it.

Her nimble fingers gently took the razor from its resting place. She ran her thumb up and down on it, feeling a sudden chill run down her spine. How nice it would be, to press it down on her skin and watch the crimson pour out into the sink, forming lovely pictures as it slowly ran down, down into the drain. How nice it would be to then call out she was taking a shower; her mother would never suspect, not with the sound of the shower running. How nice it would be to then sit under the running shower and let the blood drain and let her final thoughts be of how she had driven herself into this state of misery when she murdered Cyril, which had been the key catalyst to her ending up on Nigger Island and...

Yes, it would be nice.

Biting her lip, Vera very lightly pressed the smooth surface on her wrist, still pondering. If she were to die, would anyone care? Her father would most likely put on a sad face at her funeral and act as though he wished he had been there, and then once no one was looking, he'd mutter about how she had further shamed the family.

But what about her mother? What about Evelyn? Would they care?

And the baby...

"Vera, are you all right?" said the voice of her mother, startling Vera.

"Yes," called out Vera. She hesitated before saying, "I'll be out in a minute."

She put the razor back where it belonged and closed the medicine cabinet. Today's routine would be different; she would be going back to bed and spending the rest of the day in it, if necessary.

And she would live. She would live to see if the man who violated her would get justice or not. And she would live to see if she could make an important decision before it was too late.

Yes.

She would live.


	6. Reality Sets In

6

**Reality Sets In**

The remainder of September just seemed to fly by. The leaves grew crisper and the air stank of wood smoke to the dismay of those with allergies, but to the love of those who simply loved the smell. Neither Lombard nor Vera completely took their minds off the upcoming trial; they each had their own concerns about whether or not everything would unfold in their favour, but for the most part they were able to temporarily take their minds off of it.

One particularly nice day in October, Vera woke up feeling rather...strange. There was something peculiar about this day, though she didn't know just what. She still felt nauseous as she usually did whenever she woke up. She still felt sore all over. She just didn't feel _right._

Vera shrugged this feeling off and got out of bed. She and Evelyn were going for a girl's day out today; Evelyn thought it would temporarily help take Vera's mind off her worries.

Vera sorted through the clothes in her closet, deciding what to wear. She didn't want to look promiscuous, lest she tempt another...incident...yet she wanted to dress in a manner that suggested she had no worries in her life.

She finally pulled out a tasteful yet normal-seeming white dress with a black buckle around the middle. It was modest enough to wear out in public without anyone thinking she was trying to seduce them, yet fashionable enough to show she had no worries.

Smiling, Vera began her usual dressing routine, which went quite normal at first. So normal, in fact, she barely took notice to her stomach until she began to wrap the buckle around her waist, but it wouldn't go.

Frowning, she lowered it slightly, but that only made it worse. She tried to fix the belt herself...when her fingers ran across a smooth, round surface. Just to confirm her suspicions, she ran one hand on her stomach. Sure enough, there was a very small bump taking form.

"The baby," whispered Vera softly, her mind beginning to drift back to the early days of September...

* * *

_Vera closed her eyes and grimaced. For the past week, she had not been feeling well at all. She felt tired all the time, she was sore all over, and woke up every morning feeling nauseous. For the first few days, it went away on its own if Vera just lay in bed and waited for it to go away; but now, starting two days ago, she would always have to make a mad dash to the bathroom to bring back up last night's supper, no matter how gentle._

_Vera heard a gentle knock on the door, causing her to tense up before she heard her mother's voice say, "Vera? Are you feeling all right?"_

"_No," moaned Vera, willing herself very strongly not to think of her nausea...but what was there to think of, if not that? The only that came to mind was...that night..._

"_You're not sick again, are you?" said her mother's worried voice._

_Vera opened her mouth to answer that—then pulled the wastebasket by her bed over to her side and began to vomit. She retched violently, feeling as though she were bringing back up her toenails. When she was done, she noticed her mother standing above her._

"_That's the third morning in a row, Vera," she said sternly. "I really think I should take you to a doctor."_

"_No, mother, it's okay, really," said Vera with a wave of her hand. "I'll be fine, honest. I'm just really nervous about the upcoming trial, that's all. I still have to find a lawyer, and the night itself—it's all just getting to me, that's all it is. It'll go away once I relax."_

"_Vera," said Mrs. Claythorne, sitting next to her daughter on the bed. "Just go to the doctor for me. Even if it's just nerves, I want you to be absolutely certain."_

_Vera knew there was no way to talk her mother out of it, so she sighed, "Very well. Schedule an appointment for me while I just lie here and rest. But I'm telling you, it's only nerves. They'll go away on their own."_

* * *

"If only life were that simple," said Vera softly, now running just her thumbs over the smooth bump that reminded her the doctor had been right.

* * *

_There was something about the doctor's office that was very unsettling. Even with her mother and sister by her either side, Vera still wanted to get up and leave. For some reason she couldn't figure out, she just didn't want to know exactly what was wrong with her. She wanted to just brush it off as nerves and leave._

"_Honestly, it's only nerves," said Vera, her eyes darting across the room from the mahogany bookcase back to the ticking clock on the doctor's desk._

"_Better to be safe than sorry, right?" shrugged Evelyn._

"_Oh, when is he going to get back here?" moaned Vera. "How long does it take to get test results back? They were only done three days ago, it couldn't take him that long to get them back, right?"_

"_It's a bit more complicated than that, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne._

_Just then, the door opened, startling Vera. In walked Dr. Ellis, with a passive look on his face. "The results are back," he said._

_Vera sighed and put her head in one hand while using the other to balance her arm. She could feel a headache coming on, though she didn't know why._

"_And?" inquired Mrs. Claythorne. "Is it nerves?"_

"_Nope," said Dr. Ellis, shaking his head. "Not nerves."_

"_Then is she sick?" asked Evelyn, looking worried._

"_Not sick," said Dr. Ellis shaking his head. "Miss Claythorne."_

_Vera's eyes looked over in Dr. Ellis' direction, but the rest of her remained in the same position._

"_I have some news for you that may or may not be viewed as a blessing, depending on what your situation is," said Dr. Ellis in a tone that made Vera feel uneasy. "You do not have nerves, and you are certainly not sick. You're pregnant."_

_Vera frowned. Had she heard the doctor wrong? Well, she was feeling a bit tired from the night before; perhaps she misheard him. She slowly lifted her head from her hands._

"_What?" said Evelyn in a dangerously quiet tone._

"_You're pregnant," repeated Dr. Ellis. "Your sister is pregnant."_

_Pregnant._

"_Pregnant," said Evelyn softly. "No." Then, in a much louder tone, "No! Doctor!"_

_She shot up from her chair. "Doctor, there must be something wrong," she said. "There has to be some sort of mistake. Vera can't be pregnant! Not now!"_

"_And yet she is," said Dr. Ellis. "The results do not lie. Miss Claythorne is expecting."_

_Evelyn said something else, and her mother threw in her two cents on the subject, but Vera barely paid attention to what was being said. Pregnant. She...no, she couldn't be...she only had sex once, with...with...that man...that man who stole everything precious from her...even then, he had used protection, right? Her mind raced back to that night: When they were on the bed, he removed her panties, unzipped his pants while still holding her down, and...no...he hadn't..._

_Oh God._

_Vera thought she was going to throw up in the doctor's office right there, but she somehow held it all down. Her insides felt numb. Pregnant...from a moment of...and by a man whom she certainly did not love, especially not after..._

_No. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real._

_It just couldn't be._

_Vera could practically feel herself shutting down. She wasn't even aware that she was being driven home until several minutes later, when Evelyn broke the mind-numbing silence in Vera's mind: "What are you going to do?"_

_Do? About what? About an imaginary problem?_

"_I don't know," said Vera softly, her eyes focused on the passing cars out the window._

_And that was the end of that._

* * *

All this time, Vera had been secretly hoping the doctor was wrong, that she would get her period any day now and discover she wasn't pregnant after all, that she didn't have to face the reality of such a situation.

And yet here she was one month and eight days later with still no period, and a bump to prove this wasn't a nightmare.

This was reality.

"So," said a voice that startled Vera. Her mother came in through the door. "You're beginning to show. It isn't that noticeable without the belt; you look perfectly fine, but otherwise..."

"It's really happening, isn't it," whispered Vera, suddenly feeling quite nauseous.

"Yes baby, it is," said Mrs. Claythorne, nodding and smiling with tears in her eyes.

"Oh my Lord," breathed Vera, sitting down on her bed, suddenly feeling quite faint.


	7. Coping With Reality

7

**Coping With Reality**

Vera tried her best to ignore her condition in the same way she had in the past, but it was no longer as easy as it once was. There was no denying it now; she was for sure going to have a baby, whether she wanted to or not. She supposed she could still have an abortion, but there would be more complications to it. Supposing something went wrong, supposing that the procedure would somehow leave her sterile...

Yes, sooner or later she would _have_ to make a decision about what to do about the baby or else she'd be a mother before she knew it. She would have to decide if she wanted to abort it, give it up for adoption, or somehow make motherhood work. Neither she nor her sister nor her mother knew it, but her life would very soon undergo a very cruel twist that would _force_ her to make a decision...

* * *

It was on a cool day in early November that Vera and Evelyn went out for lunch at a restaurant that wasn't fancy, but was certainly no soup kitchen either. While waiting for their orders to be served, they went into the women's washroom to discuss Vera's 'situation'.

"Now I know this is something you'd rather not think about," said Evelyn as she closed the stall door behind them. "But you had better decide what to do about the baby _now_ or else it will be too late. First of all, you know I'll support you no matter what you choose, but if you don't make a decision really soon, you will have to carry it full term. I won't allow you to go to those women I suggested."

_Congratulations, Evelyn,_ thought Vera bitterly. _You have mastered the art of contradiction._

"I'm sorry," said Evelyn as though she could read Vera's mind. "But the procedure is just too risky now more than ever. What if you end up unable to have another child?"

"Then I'll adopt," said Vera, even though she didn't believe she truly would be comfortable with never knowing what giving birth and holding a newborn baby she had created in her arms must feel like.

"What if you _died?"_ insisted Evelyn. She muttered, "Times like these make me _wish_ abortion were safe and legal."

"I don't care," said Vera before she could stop herself.

The look of shock and hurt on Evelyn's face struck Vera harder than any slap. "Vera," said Evelyn softly, "_I_ would care. We've talked about this before, haven't we? Anytime you need me, I'll be here. Don't let this destroy you, okay? Just _don't."_

The way Evelyn's voice broke up over the word 'don't' reminded Vera of the day her mother said it was hard to see her suffer like this. It made her heart ache enough to make Vera say, "I'll hang on as best I can. For you." She sighed, "Just...know that this is difficult for me, okay? If I don't get back to you within the past two weeks, you'll know I'm not going to abort. As for what I'll do when the baby's born..."

Her voice faded.

"You don't have to think about that right now," said Evelyn. She smiled and gave Vera a light pat on the shoulder. "Now let's go back to our tables. I'm sure our orders will be here by now."

* * *

Lombard was not much of a spying fellow. He enjoyed taking risks, but spying was beneath him.

Not on this particular day.

He had seen Vera drive right by his house with another woman in front whom he assumed to be her sister. He planned on following them to wherever it was they were going to, waiting until Vera was alone, and confronting her. He would ask her how dare she do this to him and convince her to drop the charges.

He had finally traced them down to some middle-class restaurant, but didn't follow them inside, for he knew Vera would try to get away. No, the trick was to catch her by surprise. He would wait outside by the building's back door and occasionally peek around the corner to see if she was out yet. When she was, he would wait until she was alone and then confront her.

He grinned to himself while waiting outside. He could picture the humiliation on her face when he accused her of being a backstabbing whore in public and exposed her for what she truly was. And he would stand there and laugh.

Or maybe not, if it made him look like the villain. Instead, he would just give her a pitying grin and walk off, the sleek panther triumphant over the trembling gazelle.

Lombard rubbed his hands together impatiently. He had been standing outside for nearly an hour now, and was beginning to feel the effects of the cold weather. It was getting to the point where he could see his breath whenever he felt the urge to ease tension by breathing in and out slowly.

"Damn it, how long does ordering a meal and then _eating_ it take?" he muttered.

He walked around the side and peeked around the corner one last time. Some people were going, but not one of them looked even close to Vera Claythorne.

"Might as well give up," he sighed. If she wasn't going to come out now, she probably never—hold on.

Lombard retreated ever so slightly. Sure enough, out came two women—one with mousy brown hair, the other with slightly more lively hair wearing the same gray coat she had wore the night she seduced him.

He grinned his wolf-like grin. This was it. Here was the panther easing in on its prey...

"You know, Evelyn, it's funny," he could hear her say. "Ever since we came, I've had the feeling I'm being watched."

He had to get the sister to leave—but how? Damn it, why couldn't he have taken advantage of the earlier opportunity to flatten her tire or otherwise sabotage her car somehow?

"Follow that instinct, Vera," said the other woman. "It's better to be safe than sorry. I'll stick by you, if you like."

"No, you go on ahead," said Vera with a wave of her hand. "Just give me a minute; I think I left my purse inside. As long as there are plenty of people, I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe."

Yes...Lombard felt rather giddy all of a sudden. This was just like the old days, only _better..._

He waited until the sister was gone. Then, sleekly and silently like a panther, he followed Vera into the restaurant, being extra careful to avoid being caught by the enemy. She didn't have much strength left, but she had enough to know when to scream for help, he knew that much.

He followed her to the booth where he presumed she had had lunch. He flashed his teeth and began to take one step forward...

"Damn," sighed Vera. "That's right."

She got up and marched off, leaving Lombard feeling temporarily defeated, but he quickly picked himself up and silently followed her through the crowd, careful enough to make it look innocuous to anyone else nearby.

She opened the door to the women's washroom. Lombard knew he only had one chance to make this look like a perfectly innocent mistake, and he would take it...

* * *

Vera sighed with frustration. Of course, she had left her purse in the bathroom when she had been talking with Evelyn earlier. How stupid was that of her?

"At least no one stole anything," she muttered, quickly going through her purse's contents.

She slipped the purse over her shoulder...and paused. She thought she felt something—like a very quick flutter in her stomach. Was that the baby, or gas?

Her blouse covered up her stomach quite well; you'd never know the difference. She gently unbuttoned the last button on her blouse and lifted it up ever so slightly, just enough to properly see her stomach, which was getting bigger by the day. She ran one hand on her stomach and softly said, "Was that you?"

Her stomach had settled down again, but her nerves were acting up. She had a strong feeling she was in grave danger.

Vera slowly turned around...and saw him.

Philip Lombard.

_He_ was standing there.

Vera froze. Then, she realized he had frozen as well. He looked as though he had wanted to say or do something to her, but then stopped once he saw her belly.

He knew...he _knew..._

Vera realized she had been stupidly standing there with her blouse exposing her belly the entire time. She quickly buttoned the last button back up and, taking advantage of the opportunity before Lombard could change his mind, marched right past him and pushed the door open.

She was nervous the entire time; she kept turning around to see if he was following her. Fortunately, he was no longer bothering her, so she made it to the car unharmed.

"What happened?" asked Evelyn. "You look white as a sheet."

_The man who—stole my virginity, otherwise known as this baby's father, now knows I'm carrying his child, and I don't know if he's going to use it against me in court or not, or if it means I'm in more danger than ever. I assume you'd be white as a sheet, too?_

"Nothing," said Vera, shaking her head. "It's nothing. I'm just tired. Take me home."


	8. In the Dark of the Night

8

**In the Dark of the Night**

Lombard fumbled through his pocket for a cigarette. He was in dire need of one, after his unfortunate—not to mention completely _unexpected_—discovery from five minutes ago.

The bitch was _pregnant?_ She was carrying _his_ child? No...no it couldn't be. There _had_ to be some other explanation. He couldn't be the father. Not _him._ It had to be another man...perhaps she had slept with someone else prior to coming to Indian Island? If so, whom? Who to point the finger at?

If _he_ wasn't the father, then who was? How was _he_ supposed to find out? Go around asking every single man in town if they had ever slept with a woman named Vera Claythorne? Of course not. Check in with all the local bars to see if she had been to any of them during the summer and if she had left with a man? Possibly, but how could they possibly keep track of every single customer who came and went into their bar?

That night...he _had_ used protection, hadn't he?

No, it would mean having to look back on...well, did he bring anything with him? No...he hadn't...he had thought this was going to be a simple arrangement with Mr. Owen and didn't expect to actually _meet_ any women...

"Damn you Wargrave," said Lombard angrily, kicking a nearby pile of leaves. That judge was _right._ Blast!

"Is something the matter, young man?" asked a Scottish elderly lady coming out of the restaurant.

"No," said Lombard, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

The woman looked at him a bit strangely before moving on.

Lombard had finally found that much sought-after cigarette. He whipped out a match and kept trying, furiously, to strike it against the building before a flame came up. He lit the cigarette and began puffing, though it didn't make much of a difference. He was still in utter disbelief.

His _mother..._God, if _she_ found out, would she still believe her son's innocence? Or would she identify with the 'poor, innocent girl' and be turned against him? Would she honestly think history was repeating itself?

Of course it wasn't. His mother had been _raped._ And Vera Claythorne simply got scared and _thought_ she had been raped.

That was all.

* * *

When Lombard came home, the first thing he did was go straight to bed and lie down. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the birds chirping outside, of the cars passing by...of a woman walking by with a wailing baby...

"It's not my baby," moaned Lombard. "It never was and never will be."

This was the second time he had impregnated a woman out of wedlock. At least Jennifer didn't go around sprouting lies...he had wanted to be a father after learning about Chester...but not like this...

Maybe she _wasn't_ pregnant. Maybe she had just gained a bit of weight since the last time he saw her; yes, maybe she just began eating out of depression and overate. It happened, right?

Except her stomach looked round and firm, not like the pudgy, sloppy shape of the obese.

Well, maybe this discovery wasn't a _total_ loss after all. He could always call up his lawyer and tell him of this news. Then the pregnancy could be used _against_ Vera in court if he were somehow able to _prove_ the baby wasn't his, or if he got the court to question the child's paternity...

Lombard sighed. Even if he were to get his lawyer to listen to him, how could he _prove_ the child wasn't his? What if it backfired and it were used against _him?_ What if Vera's lawyer (whom he was sure knew of their client's condition) struck up the argument that their client had always been a saint until that night, thus Lombard and Lombard alone had to be the father? He could picture Morley's disapproving look, Jennifer's expression of pure disgust; she would _never_ let him see Chester _now_; and his mother...

If there was anything good about this, at least Lombard was spared the nasty surprise of having this sprung on him in court. He had time to prepare exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. He supposed calling up his lawyer to talk about it in person couldn't hurt. Still, the trial was months away. Even if he were to work out something with his lawyer, what to do until then?

Nothing _useful_ was going through Lombard's mind; it was like an aged record that kept skipping over the same note over and over again. Lawyer...won't listen...lawyer...might argue...mother...ashamed...names, oh random names...tales of childhood told to pass the time back on the island...

Lombard sat up. It was all beginning to come together...an idea was forming in his head...an idea that would succeed in destroying whatever strength Vera had left, expose her true nature to the public, _and_ clear his name all at once.

He sat, sorting through the pieces of the puzzle in his head. The idea itself came at a great risk—if it backfired, it could be used against him in court...but Philip Lombard did not mind risks in the slightest.

A wolf-like grin spread across his face. It had all fit in together...he had concocted the perfect plan to destroy Vera Claythorne. But first, he would have to wait about another day or two to avoid suspicion on Vera's part. Then...he would strike with a mighty vengeance. It would be hard, it would be brutal, it would be downright cruel, but it would be effective. He could see it now: Vera Claythorne lying on the ground in a heap, weeping bitterly, admitting to her shame; and he, Philip Lombard, standing above her, pretending to be sympathetic and forgiving.

Lombard clenched his fists and smiled. He would wait three days before moving his plan forward. In the mean time, he would work out the finer details...and perhaps arrange a meeting with his lawyer for sometime next week.

* * *

**A/N: The chapter title comes from the villain song in Anastasia because, although the parallel is not exact and would require a stretch of metaphorical thinking, it fits Lombard so well in this chapter. And speaking of which...I should warn you that if you were a Lombard fan before, you might not like him so much in just a few chapters.**


	9. Taking the Bait

9

**Taking the Bait**

Vera was able to put her most recent ordeal out of her mind. Surprisingly enough, she was also able to put her past ordeal out of her mind as well. She no longer had nightmares, but she still felt like a filthy wench, and would have a flashback once a day. For the most part, though, Vera felt strangely happy. She supposed she should feel glad for this, but she got a strange feeling this happiness would not last.

She also knew she should take advantage of her current happiness to think over her options, but she never did so seriously. She would occasionally give a thought to what might happen if, for example, she were to give it up for adoption. It was quickly becoming the option she was leaning towards to, but she would brush it off and try to get on with her life as best she could.

Three days after her ordeal, her mother brought up an issue Vera had been trying to ignore at breakfast: "You're down to about three outfits that fit you, Vera. We'll have to shop for maternity clothes eventually."

"I know," said Vera softly, mindlessly picking up a scoop full of cereal with her spoon and then dripping it back into the bowl.

"How about this weekend?" suggested Mrs. Claythorne. "You and I could go shopping together. It will be so much fun!"

_I take it, then, that your idea of 'fun' is going to shop for clothes that clearly indicated you're pregnant when you don't want the world to know and having everyone stare at you because they all know you're not married?_

"Maybe," said Vera. She still didn't know if she was for sure going to carry the baby full term or not. She still had two weeks to decide, so to buy herself some time, she said, "How about two more weeks? I'm still not comfortable with the idea of everyone knowing I'm pregnant yet."

"I don't think this baby will let you wait that long, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne. "It's growing quickly."

_Don't remind me._

"One more week," said Vera, knowing she would be cutting her time short, but hoping to make her mother happy.

"Very well," sighed Mrs. Claythorne. Then, "How about crib shopping?"

Vera nearly choked on the milk she was swallowing. She found drinking milk helped settle her nausea, but to hear her mother try to limit her time left to make a decision only made that nausea come back. "Crib shopping?" said Vera. "Mother, don't you think it's a bit early?"

"It's never too early to be prepared," said Mrs. Claythorne.

"Mother," said Vera slowly, "this baby isn't due until April the twenty-fourth. I think it can wait. How about you surprise me at Christmas?"

"Well, I personally think I should get _your_ input as you're going to be the mother," said Mrs. Claythorne, not knowing of the uneasy feeling she was creating in her daughter's stomach. "But if you insist..."

"Oh, I insist," said Vera quickly.

* * *

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful; nothing too exciting happened. Vera stayed inside the house most of the day, trying to weigh her options, but her mind drifting off to other matters.

Her mother _really _wanted her to keep it, she could tell. She practically had her heart set on it. The thought of the look on her face if she knew Vera was having second thoughts about motherhood made Vera feel guilty. But it wasn't _her _decision to make, she should let her daughter be happy, right?

Still, Vera saw no need to tell her mother if she had an abortion. She already had a plan set in mind were she to make such a decision; she'd tell her mother she was going out for a walk with Evelyn when in truth, she'd be going off to the abortionist. Once the procedure was over, she would go to Evelyn's house for a few hours to buy more time. Finally, once it was close to nine o'clock, Evelyn would call their mother up to tell her Vera had a miscarriage but didn't want to bother her.

It seemed like the perfect plan—like nothing could go wrong. Then again, she had also thought her plan to murder Cyril was the perfect plan...what if her mother found out somehow?

"Why does this have to be so hard?" groaned Vera that evening as she lay down in bed, trying to sooth her headache.

The telephone rang, causing Vera to wince and rub her aching temples. "I'll get it," called out her mother.

Vera was only able to relax once the ringing stopped. If she gave it up, how could she know it would go to a good family? She wasn't entirely familiar with the adoption procedure, but she knew enough to know her chances of ever seeing it again were slim. What if it went to a family that abused it in some horrible way? Then who would be to blame—Vera, or the agency? Vera of course, for willing to give her child an uncertain future with a couple that was most likely uncertified to be parents.

Vera only listened to various bits and pieces of the conversation. All she knew about it was that the caller was Mrs. Ashcroft, an elderly woman who occasionally baby-sat for Derek. The two women were not close friends, but Vera did enjoy talking to her once in a while. She didn't know of Vera's pregnancy, of course; so far, her parents, sister, lawyer, and now attacker were the only ones who knew...to the length of her knowledge.

There was a light rap on the door, followed by her mother's voice: "May I come in?"

"Of course," said Vera, sitting up as best she could.

Mrs. Claythorne came in and sat down on the bed. "That was Mrs. Ashcroft," she said. "She needs someone to look after her cat while she goes to visit her grandchildren in the country this weekend."

"Oh," said Vera, surprised. This was the first time Mrs. Ashcroft had ever asked a favour from Vera herself; she and Evelyn had an equal give-and-take relationship with each other, but this never spread to Vera. "So we'll have to make room for a cat this weekend."

"No, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne. "She wants you to come over to her house. But you won't be alone," she quickly added. "You will have an old friend of yours there."

"Really? Whom?" asked Vera.

"Do you remember that boy who had such a crush on you when you were children?" asked Mrs. Claythorne, smiling.

"Warren Mayer?" asked Vera, surprised. She recalled Warren quite well; he was a rather unattractive boy who enjoyed eating bugs, but she liked him a good deal. They had gone out for a short while when they were both thirteen, but eventually broke up yet managed to stay good friends. Warren and his family had to move away a year later when his father found a better job in the city, and she hadn't seen him since.

"Now first of all, I understand you wanting to be alone with any man is difficult for you right now," said Mrs. Claythorne quickly. "So if you ever want me or Evelyn to come along, just let me know, okay?"

"Actually," said Vera, "I think it's about time I faced this fear of mine down myself. I've known Warren for as long as I can remember and he was a really nice boy. And...I can't let what happened hold me down forever, right?"

The truth was, Vera was terrified at the idea of being alone with even a close friend of hers, but there was an element of truth in her wanting to move past what happened. She was beginning to get tired of crying herself to sleep every night and inching away anytime it looked as though a man in public was beginning to come near her. How could she ever get better if she held on to what happened months ago?

"If you say so, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne.

"So what time does she want me to come?" asked Vera.

"Friday at around eight o'clock," said Mrs. Claythorne. "She says Warren will arrive a bit earlier to prepare for your arrival. And once again, are you _sure_ you'll be all right?"

"Mother," said Vera, "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be _fine,_ honest. This will be a great opportunity for me to leave my past behind and look to the future."


	10. Trapped

10

**Trapped**

Mrs. Ashcroft gave her daises one final watering before setting them aside. She was finally being given that much-needed break to see her grandchildren this weekend by a nice man who went by the name of Warren Mayer. A few days ago, he had approached her in the park to have a nice little chat with her. It turned out he knew that nice girl who lived around the neighbourhood, Vera Claythorne, from their childhood days. He had found out from their talks that Mrs. Ashcroft seldom had time to visit her grandchildren because she had to take care of her pregnant cat, and selflessly offered to take the burden off her shoulders by looking after the cat for the weekend with Vera's help.

"What a nice young man," muttered Mrs. Ashcroft, making sure her suitcases were all packed up. She heard a knock on the door.

"That must be him," said Mrs. Ashcroft cheerfully. She marched up to the door and opened it. There stood, in the doorway, a man with chestnut hair, friendly green eyes, and a grin that reminded her of a wolf but still appeared friendly nonetheless.

"Why, hello, Warren!" exclaimed Mrs. Ashcroft. "Do come in."

She ushered Warren in and closed the door behind him. "I was just finished packing," she said. "Do you want me to leave now and have you wait here for Vera? She should be here in half an hour."

"I'd rather you stay for just a few minutes longer," spoke the calm voice of Warren. "It's been a while since Vera and I have seen each other, and she might be a bit spooked to see me. You see...how about we have a talk over tea while we're waiting? There are a few things about us that you need to know."

* * *

"Does my blouse make it _too_ obvious?" asked Vera worriedly as her mother drove her down the street and to Mrs. Ashcroft's house.

"For the hundredth time, no," laughed Mrs. Claythorne. "Vera, just _relax._ I know you're embarrassed about the idea of Warren and Mrs. Ashcroft knowing you're pregnant, but even if it _does_ make it obvious, they should be happy for you, right?"

"Right," muttered Vera, readjusting her black shawl, which had been given to her as a gift by Evelyn recently. She couldn't get rid of the feeling that something horrible was about to happen to her once she stepped into that house. She remembered Evelyn telling her to trust her instincts, but how trustworthy were they really? They had landed her into this mess.

"Now if you ever change your mind and decide you don't feel comfortable with staying alone with Warren, you can always call me or Evelyn," said Mrs. Claythorne.

_Mother, how about you just stay with us tonight?_

"Mother, thank you, but I _need_ this," insisted Vera. "I can't live in fear of men forever."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, baby," said Mrs. Claythorne, smiling. "You've come a long way."

_I'm glad you think so, because I don't think I've come very far at all._

"I'm glad you think so," said Vera, staring out the window.

"I know so," said Mrs. Claythorne. She parked the car on the side of the street. "Do you think you can walk from here? It's only two houses down, unless you want me to park up front."

"No, I'm all right from here," said Vera, getting out of the car with the bag containing her nightgown and tomorrow's clothes over her shoulder. She walked around the front and onto the sidewalk. She paused and said, "How about you send Evelyn over in the morning—at around ten o'clock?"

"Whatever makes you feel comfortable," said Mrs. Claythorne, still smiling. "See you tomorrow, Vera."

"Goodbye, mother," said Vera.

Vera stood and watched the car drive off before walking over to Mrs. Ashcroft's house. The weather was gradually growing colder, with winter just around the corner. It wasn't as cold tonight as it had been for the past few days, but Vera still felt chilled. She had a knot in her stomach, and she knew it wasn't the baby, either.

What was it about this job that made it so different from any other job, she felt nervous about going? She supposed it was just her Nigger Island experience that was making her anxious, but still, she couldn't assume every job offer would end in disaster, now could she?

Vera stopped for a moment to observe the blood red sunset. "Red sky at night is a sailor's delight," she murmured before resuming walking.

At last, she had made it to Mrs. Ashcroft's house. It had been around since the early days of Queen Victoria's reign, so it looked very old-fashioned from the outside; it was a pale pink with three windows surrounding the living room, enabling one to take a sneak peek. This time, however, there were the green curtains drawn. It was as though there was something no one wanted anyone else to witness...

Vera shook these thoughts out of her head and carefully walked up the front steps and knocked on the door. "Mrs. Ashcroft?" she called out. "It's me, Vera Claythorne."

"_Mr. Lombard, Mr. Lombard, it's me, open up."_

Why think of that now? That was then, this was now.

After about a minute, the door opened and there stood Mrs. Ashcroft, looking as friendly as ever with her snow-white hair tied off her face in a bun. "Why, hello Miss Claythorne!" she said. "It's been a while, do come in!"

Vera smiled and she instantly felt at ease as she walked in and closed the door behind her. How could she ever feel unsafe in a house like this, with a woman like Mrs. Ashcroft around?

"I'm a bit anxious since what happened on Nigger Island," confessed Vera, laying her luggage down on the sofa. "So I have to admit, I was reluctant to come."

"Oh now I don't blame you in the slightest," said Mrs. Ashcroft with a wave of her hand. "It takes a while to move past such a traumatic experience, and I'm glad to see you're doing just fine."

Vera followed Mrs. Ashcroft into the kitchen, where everything was neatly in its place, even the sparkling wine glasses in the cabinet. "And speaking of traumatic experiences," Mrs. Ashcroft went on, "I am glad to hear you've moved past that Hugo fellow you used to be so depressed over."

Vera frowned. What was Mrs. Ashcroft talking about?

"You don't have to say anything, dear," said Mrs. Ashcroft quickly, raising a hand. "I know all about you and Warren."

"You...do?" asked Vera curiously. What did knowing of a silly infatuation have to do with moving past Hugo?

"Yes," nodded Mrs. Ashcroft. "Warren told me all about your summer romance with him, before Nigger Island. He even told me about the baby."

Wait..._what?_

"The _baby,"_ repeated Vera.

"Yes," said Mrs. Ashcroft. "Now first of all, I don't exactly condone pre-marital sex, but from what Warren tells me, you cared for him a great deal, so I suppose that has to count for _something._ And it's noble of you to consider the poor boy's reputation and insist the two of you stay apart, but he sincerely wants to be a part of this baby's life, and I think you should let him."

"That's right."

A voice that sounded way too familiar was coming from the stairwell leading to upstairs. Vera could feel her heart pace quickening up, for she had a sinking feeling as to who the owner of the voice was. The thumping sound of shoes slowly marching down the stairs could be heard, causing her heart to beat faster and faster. And when the owner of the thumping shoes and haunting voice finally came in full view, her heart stopped beating all together.

It was Philip Lombard.

"It's my baby too, you know," Lombard went on once he was in full view. "And I respect your wanting to spare my reputation, but I really would like to be a part of this baby's life. It wouldn't be fair to the baby, after all, to deprive it of a father figure, now would it?"

Lombard was now standing next to Mrs. Ashcroft, with one eyebrow raised.

_It was a trap,_ Vera realized, her heart beat resuming at a much, much quicker pace. _He lured me here, using Mrs. Ashcroft as the bait...and now he's got me. I can't admit to what happened, not in front of Mrs. Ashcroft, but...but oh God, I have to get out of here!_

"What's wrong, Vera?" asked Mrs. Ashcroft. "You're trembling."

"I," said Vera slowly, "I think I need to lie down. This...is all too much for me."

Vera walked like a zombie to the sofa in the living room and sat down on the couch, her face in her hands. She had to get out of here, but without Mrs. Ashcroft suspecting anything. But _how?_ Make a run for it? Then Mrs. Ashcroft would think she couldn't make a commitment and Lombard would make a fool out of her. Tell the truth? No, Lombard must have been an incredibly talented actor to be able to convince Mrs. Ashcroft he was an old friend rather than an old enemy.

Or she could wait for Mrs. Ashcroft to leave and then try escaping...but what if he already did something to her by then?

Vera lifted her head up from her hand and resolved right then and there to get out of here now while she still had the chance. She didn't care if it would make her look foolish, it was better to be foolish than...than whatever she would presumably be by the time Lombard was finished doing whatever he planned on doing with her...

Well, Mrs. Ashcroft may think the less of her for it now, but she would eventually find out the truth once Lombard was taken to court. This in mind, Vera stood up, deciding her luggage was not her top priority at this time. She then walked as fast as she could to the door. She began to turn the doorknob...

"Vera?"

Vera whipped around and saw Mrs. Ashcroft walking towards her, Lombard tailing right behind. "Where do you think you are going?" she asked.

Vera burst open the door and tried running down the steps, but felt a frail hand on her shoulders.

"Vera, is something wrong?" asked Mrs. Ashcroft.

"I'm sorry, I need to go home," said Vera shakily. She tried to get out of her grasp, but Mrs. Ashcroft calmly said, "Warren told me you'd try to do this. He said you'd feel uncomfortable with the idea of being re-united with an old flame, but he personally felt this _had_ to be done. He said that if you were to ever try to run away, I was to bring you back inside and the two of you could resolve your issues together. I'm very sorry, but that baby cannot grow up without a father in its life. Besides which, an unmarried woman raising a baby all alone does nothing for her social status, and you will be terribly embarrassed, so please, come back inside."

"I—well, I won't be _alone," _said Vera defensively. "I'll—I'll have my mother. She promised to stay as long as I—"

"Your mother can only be this baby's grandmother," said Mrs. Ashcroft calmly, slowly bringing Vera back inside. "She cannot be its father, and only _the_ father can fill that role."

By now, Vera was back in the house, which was slowly beginning to resemble a serpent's lair, with the King Serpent looking humble on the surface while having malicious intentions underneath.

"Now, I'll leave the two of you alone to go visit my grandchildren," said Mrs. Ashcroft. "My luggage is already in my car."

Vera grabbed Mrs. Ashcroft by the arm and said, "Can't you stay a few minutes longer?" She needed to do whatever she could to buy herself more time.

"Young lady, I do not appreciate being grabbed like that," said Mrs. Ashcroft sternly, yanking her arm out of Vera's grasp. "And being full-grown adults, I think the two of you can solve your issues on your own."

"Except I don't really _feel _comfortable being alone with someone I once...you know...slept with," said Vera, knowing all the while she would ultimately have to resort to escaping once Mrs. Ashcroft left. "I would feel more comfortable if you stayed behind and acted as a mediator for me and Warren."

"Now Vera," spoke up Lombard, wrapping one arm around Vera's waist and turning her towards him. "I know this is difficult for you, but know that I love you with all my heart. We can work through our problems together, you and I." He held her a bit too close for her liking. "What does Mrs. Ashcroft know of our problems, other than our unexpected surprise?" He lightly rubbed her belly. "We will be able to work out a compromise best for us, and the baby."

Lombard then drew Vera in and kissed her. Memories of that horrible night flooded Vera's senses as though it were being recreated right now; she could smell the liquor in his breath, feel a pair of hands undressing her...she barely heard Mrs. Ashcroft saying goodbye and wishing them good luck. It was only at the sound of the door closing and locking that they separated.

"I told her to lock it," said Lombard in the same unnaturally calm voice he had used that night. "I told her you got awfully nervous when the door was left unlocked."

He grinned his wolf grin, the grin that filled Vera with so much fury...and fear...

Vera did the first thing that came to mind and slowly backed up towards the phone on the end table near the door. She picked it up, her eyes fixed solely on Lombard. She began dialling her home phone number...

Why was he making this so easy for her?

Following her instincts, Vera felt for some sort of connection at the back of the phone...only there was none...

"Smart girl," laughed Lombard. "All the other lines have been cut, too. You know," he took one step towards Vera while she took a few steps back around the living room, trying to look for any sort of way to escape, "Mrs. Ashcroft is a sweet old lady. She's very kind, very trusting. A little _too_ trusting, wouldn't you agree? You'd think she would get suspicious by my needing to get something while preparing her tea, but she never once smelled a rat."

Vera tried to swallow, but couldn't. She felt a lump forming in her throat, the same lump from that night before...oh why hadn't she listened to her instincts? Why didn't she just call up Mrs. Ashcroft and decline her offer? Sitting at home embarrassed would have been better than standing here, feeling something close to the terror she felt on Nigger Island...especially that night...

"So you're pregnant," said Lombard, raising his eyebrows. "Just like he said. Looks as though that damnable judge was right after all!"

He let out a laugh that startled Vera—badly. It startled her so much, the world around her became fuzzy...then slowly...black...

* * *

"Stupid bitch," he laughed at the figure lying on the ground. She had _fainted._ She actually _fainted._ Had he really frightened her that much? Had the prospect of being forced to confront her own guilt been so terrible, she passed out?

Lombard bent down and gently scooped her up in his arms, wincing a little. This baby sure had caused her to put on quite a few pounds. This baby had caused a lot of trouble.

Lombard carried her over into the guest room on the main floor. The cat that had needed to be cared for had been taken care of; he had locked it up in the basement. He was sure it would be all right; it had food and water, after all. He wasn't the heartless man Vera tried to make him out to be.

Lombard gently laid Vera down in the guest bed and kissed her on the forehead. He removed Vera's shawl and put it in his pocket. He would be keeping this with him for now.

He smiled at the unconscious figure, who looked very appealing, even when pregnant. He was tempted to have his way with her right then, but he told himself doing so now would ruin everything. Before he could carry out the second part of his plan, he would first have to awake her, then put her back to sleep. But first, he was going to get some string. Those days of learning how to tie knots hadn't been in vain, after all.

* * *

Vera's eyes shot open at a very sharp slap, causing her to sit up...or at least, sit up as best she could. She felt something digging deep into her wrists and ankles, something that was keeping her immobile. Just as she began to realize what was happening, a hand suddenly reached out and jerked her head all the way back while the other began to pour a drink of ordinary water down her throat. She tried closing her mouth, but the hand that had been focusing on trying to pull her hair off from her head forced her mouth open.

Was he trying to poison her? Was that his plan? To lure her here and then...poison her?

She heard a voice laughing, "I'm not going to kill you, don't worry."

Once the glass had been removed, Vera gasped and fell back on the bed, her head hitting the pillow rather hard. It was now she felt the water dribbling down her chin and onto her neck.

"That would make it all too easy for you," said the voice, accompanied by its owner climbing into bed next to her.

Vera opened her mouth to say something, but before she could even think of what to say, within five seconds, she was gagged and unable to talk.

She was officially trapped.

Vera's pleading eyes rolled over to Lombard, silently begging him to let her go.

"Let everything happen," whispered Lombard, running one hand through her hair. "I told you that, remember? But you were so insistent on trying to fight it. This time, you will cooperate, I am sure."

He tucked a strand of hair behind Vera's ear.

"So," said Lombard, "did you enjoy trying to ruin me? Hmm? Did you get some sort of twisted _pleasure_ in seeing me suffer?"

_And did you?_ Vera wanted to say and would say, were it not for her restriction.

"I suppose you did, didn't you," said Lombard, grinning. "Well, Vera, you are about to find out what it is like when everyone thinks you're a criminal, even your own friends and family. Though I suppose what you did could hardly be considered to be a crime—you just got scared and needed something to comfort you."

His face grew angry. "And then, when you didn't enjoy it as much as you thought you would, you turned around and claimed I raped you. _Raped_ you." He practically spat the word out.

"You know, Vera," said Lombard, moving in a bit closer, his face growing into a twisted happy expression, "you really shouldn't go around lying about being raped. Then no one will believe you when you really _are_ raped."

There was something about the way Lombard said this that made Vera feel a bit nauseous.

"You are familiar with the story of the boy who cried wolf, are you not?" asked Lombard. "He cried wolf so many times, that when a wolf actually _did_ come, no one believed him. The same thing could happen to you, you know. You know it wasn't rape, and I know it wasn't rape. When the boatman came, you acted as though I knocked down your door and forced you onto the bed while you were screaming for me to let you go. But that's not what really happened."

Vera felt drowsy all of a sudden...very, very drowsy...

"You know what happened, don't you," said Lombard, nodding. "Yes. You do. Just because I was drunk doesn't mean I don't remember that night. You knocked on my door. You begged to be let in. I let you in. You were nearly naked, clearly _begging_ to be taken. And so I did. You see how it all works now? You came to me. You _seduced_ me, Vera, you _seduced _me. Even now, you're seducing me, you dirty tramp."

Vera struggled to keep her eyes open, but she eventually gave up the fight and let them close. The last words she heard before drifting off into a dreamy unconsciousness were, "You'll like it this time, just you wait and see. Just you wait and see."


	11. Putting on a Show

11

**Putting on a Show**

Lombard hummed a merry tune to himself as he took his hot, relaxing morning shower. He felt like congratulating himself for being so clever. Not even that insane judge himself would've been capable of such a devious plot!

Yet a part of him regretted that he hadn't truly taken advantage of the situation. The voice of reason in his head was quick enough to remind him that if he had, then Vera _would_ have genuine evidence to use against him in court...if she still had the strength to report this incident.

He chuckled to himself. Yes, if she _thought_ something had happened when it really hadn't, she would look like a fool indeed. For now, it was a matter of waiting until she tried to escape...

* * *

Vera was aware she was no longer in her dreaming state, yet refused to open her eyes. Her mind was racing; she was in _a_ bed, but not _her_ bed. What had happened last night? She tried to remember...her mother dropped her off at Mrs. Ashcroft's...then she came in and had a talk with Mrs. Ashcroft herself...then...

"Lombard," she whispered, her eyes shooting wide open. It all came back to her now; he had tricked her into coming over here so he could do _something_ to her...but _what?_

Vera was aware she suddenly felt rather...chilly...she lifted up the covers just to sneak a peek...

She dropped the covers and pulled them up to her chin, red-faced. She was naked. She scrambled for her clothes in the bed, coming across her bra and panties and blouse. Where was her other clothes? She looked over the bed and saw the rest of her clothing scattered all over the floor.

_Oh God._

Even though her morning sickness had ceased nearly a week ago, Vera felt a strong urge to vomit in that moment. She crawled to the other side and retched, ignoring the fact that Mrs. Ashcroft would have to clean up the stain she was in the process of leaving on the floor.

It was just like that night all over again...she had fallen asleep right before...he...was she supposed to consider herself _lucky _that she wasn't conscious when she went through that pain a second time?

"He tied me up," she said out loud when she was done, realizing that she was now free to move and speak.

She looked around. Lombard was nowhere to be seen...and she could hear the shower running upstairs...

Now was her chance to escape. Knowing she might not get another chance, Vera began gathering her clothes and got dressed, hoping to leave this second nightmare behind her as well.

* * *

Lombard had now finished with his shower and was getting dressed, yet left the shower running, hoping to fool her so he could take her by surprise. Today was the day Mrs. Ashcroft's next-door neighbour would be inviting guests over for their weekend gardening party to discuss what they would be planting in the summer, of course; certainley not now in such cold weather! He still recalled that much from his talk with Mrs. Ashcroft from a few days ago. She herself refused to come because many of those women loved to gossip, she had said.

He grinned. Mrs. Ashcroft had been a _big_ help in his scheme. Where would he be without her?

Lombard checked his watch. If his calculations were right, Vera should be getting up around now. He had to time it just right, or else everything would fail.

He tuned his ears to listen for any sort of noise. Sure enough, he heard footsteps coming from downstairs, followed by the sound of a doorknob hesitatingly turning.

He grinned his wolf-like grin and turned off the shower before opening the bathroom door and stealthily walking down the stairs, careful to make sure he was not seen. He had unlocked the door after having undressed her in her sleep; was she really stupid enough not to figure out why the door had been locked the night before and was now suddenly unlocked this morning?

The door had been closed. Lombard, seizing his chance, ran down the hall, down the steps, and straight to the door, which he thrust open, calling out, "Vera!"

Vera, who had begun to walk off hurriedly, turned around and saw him. She turned back around and began to run off.

Lombard ran after her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the elderly women gathering next door, some of whom were stopping to stare. Hoping to gain some sort of audience, he continued to call out, "Vera, wait up!"

"Stay away from me!" said Vera shrilly, who was beginning to run faster.

Lombard had finally caught up to her. He grabbed her by the wrist and said, "Vera, why are you running away from me? I want to _help_ you, really I do."

"If you want to help me, then stay away from me," said Vera shakily. She tried to get out of his grasp, but he clenched her wrist tightly.

"Let go of me," said Vera warningly.

"I'm sorry I have to do this," said Lombard, putting on an apologetic face. "But sometimes, in order to help the ones you love, you need to hurt them a little."

"_Love?!?"_ burst out Vera.

"Yes, love," nodded Lombard, hoping the other women nearby were buying his act. "I love you, Vera. I know you never intended for this to happen, because believe me—I didn't, either. But this baby needs a father and with God as my witness, I am going to _be_ that father."

He could tell he had an audience now, for he heard the women gasping and muttering amongst themselves. He went on: "I know you love this baby just as much as I do, so please, for the sake of our child, will you marry me?"

He loosened up his grip on Vera's wrist, enabling her to get out. But he could tell she wasn't going to run away. She looked frozen to the spot, noticing their little audience behind Lombard. It was all he could do to suppress a grin. At last, he had the little whore where he wanted her.

"No," said Vera, slowly shaking her head. "I won't marry you. I can't."

"But why?" asked Lombard, stepping forward. "You said you loved me that night—and you said you loved me last night before. So why aren't you accepting my proposal to you _now?_ There isn't another man in your life, is there? Another man who may be the father instead of me?"

Vera's face slowly turned the colour of the tomatoes some of the witnesses were undoubtedly planning to grow next summer. "No," she muttered. "It's yours."

"Then why won't you marry me?" asked Lombard. "Do you _still_ love me? Or," his face grew dark, "have you just been _using_ me for my body?"

"No, that's not it at _all,"_ said Vera quickly, looking as though she were silently begging for the women to go elsewhere.

"Then what is it?" asked Lombard, his hands on his hips.

"I...I," said Vera, her eyes meeting the ground. "I just..._can't."_

Lombard could hear some of the women going tsk-tsk. It was all he could do to keep himself from smiling. "I understand you're scared of the idea of marriage," he said calmly. "I know you're not exactly fond on the idea of a lifetime commitment. But really, Vera, I don't think that justifies accusing me of _rape."_

The gasps of the women spurned him on: "I know a girl's first time must be scary, and it probably hurt for you just a little bit, but honestly, Vera, just because you regretted it doesn't make it _rape._ Now the trail is still months away, so we still have time to sort out our problems. So why don't we do so right now?"

The look of shame and horror in Vera's eyes made Lombard want to dance with joy.

"I...maybe later," mumbled Vera, beginning to turn on her heel.

Deciding he hadn't fully humiliated her, Lombard stretched out his leg in a manner that made it look completley accidental, causing Vera to fall to the ground with a cry. Her hands flew to her stomach, causing Lombard to think snidely, _Developed the maternal instinct, now have we?_

Lombard crouched down to Vera. She turned her face away from him, still staring down at the ground, her shoulders slumped, her back slouched. "I am so glad you and I took the time to look after Mrs. Ashcroft's cat together," he went on, hiding his secret pleasure to hear her softly sobbing. "It gave us a good chance to rekindle our flame, if only for a while."

He lightly chuckled, managing to disguise it as a friendly chuckle. "Why are you so afraid, Vera? You said it would be a good idea. You wanted to put our differences aside just for one night. I'm sorry that you didn't enjoy it. I'm sorry if I got just a _bit_ rough. But I'm not sorry to know you still love me."

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!?"

Lombard's head snapped up at the sight of a furious-looking Evelyn marching down the street. Uh-oh. This could be a hitch to his plan.

"Nothing," said Lombard innocently, raising his hands and slowly standing up.

Evelyn marched right up to him and held him up by the front of his collar. "Stay the _hell_ away from my _sister,"_ she growled before pushing him aside. "You're not supposed to even come _near_ her."

"Who said I did?" shrugged Lombard. "I did nothing to her last night."

"Yes you _did,"_ growled Evelyn, daggers in her eyes. "Why else would she be on the ground _sobbing?"_

"Ask her," shrugged Lombard. "I can assure you I most certainly did _not_ rape her last night."

"Liar!" cried Evelyn, bending down to her sobbing sister. "You did _something_ to her and it's just a matter of time until I find out _what!"_ She turned to Vera and gently said, "There, there, Vera. It's okay. It's me, your sister. I'll take you to the police station now to report this incident."

She glared at Lombard as she helped her sister stand up. Lombard was positive that if there weren't any witnesses, Evelyn would've killed him on the spot. For certain, he'd be dead now if looks really could kill. "Just stay away from her," said Evelyn coldly. "Because if _she_ won't fight you, _I_ will."

Lombard managed to catch one last glimpse of the tear-stricken Vera, who looked completely humiliated, before she was turned around and lead away by her sister.

Lombard slowly turned around and saw the other women, still standing there. Fun as having an audience had been, it was now getting a bit irritating. "What are you looking it?" he said, innocently but coldly. "Show's over."


	12. Meltdown

12

**Meltdown**

"What the hell do you mean 'nothing happened'?" demanded Evelyn angrily at the hospital, the trembling doctor fearing her wrath standing in front of her, her sobbing mother standing off to the side.

"I mean, there is no evidence to suggest that your sister was raped twice," said the doctor calmly and patiently. "I've told you three times already: Your sister has been thoroughly examined and nothing was to be found, other than some rope burns from her wrist and ankles."

"Then," Evelyn's expression changed as it dawned on her. "That _bastard!"_ she exclaimed. "He made her _think—_ugh!"

"Calm down, Evelyn," said Mrs. Claythorne, having dried all her tears. "Hysteria is not going to put that monster where he belongs."

Evelyn took a deep breath and said, "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just—how could he _do_ this to her, mother? Once wasn't enough? Now he feels the need to _humiliate_ her?"

"Maybe this isn't as bad as we think," said Mrs. Claythorne quickly. "Did you happen to recognize any of the women who were watching?"

"Yes," moaned Evelyn. "And one of them was _Mrs. Bowman._"

"Oh dear," sighed Mrs. Claythorne. Mrs. Bowman had a reputation for being a horrible gossip. "Well, this will only be shameful if we allow it to be shameful. If anyone dares to question Vera's integrity or morals, we will just throw our heads back and walk on with pride."

* * *

Vera had never noticed it before, but the cracks in the tiled floor of the hospital bathroom formed pretty pictures. She only noticed it now as she sat in the bathroom stall on the floor. She didn't know how long she had been there since she was allowed to go; she had lost track of time while realizing the cracks looked a lot like a kitten, with a slight stretch of the imagination. And if you could possibly stretch your imagination even more, they almost resembled a baby...

Feeling the nausea surge once again, Vera leaned over the toilet and fell back into a routine she thought had already been over and done with a week ago. But then again, life was like that, wasn't it? Just when she thought it was going to change for the better, it never did. It always remained the same. She still viewed herself as a dirty whore who deserved every misfortune that came her way. She still was a victim. And she was still pregnant.

Having finished vomiting, Vera slowly stood up, still shaking. Of course, there was only one thing that had changed: Everyone now knew of her misfortune. Sure, it was only that group of women that had been nearby, but many of them were horrible gossips, she knew that much. They now knew of her secret shame. By this time next week, the entire town would know what happened. And not one of them would take pity on Vera. They would all take pity on the poor man who was being persecuted over a silly misunderstanding.

_It's all the same,_ Vera realized, clenching her fists, feeling a boiling rage build up within her. _Things are never going to change. Life will always be this horrible. It's...all...the...same._

Vera shoved the stall door open and marched up the sink, where she attempted to wash her face.

_He'll always make your life miserable._

Yet she still felt the trace of vomit around her lips...lips that had been touched by _his_ lips...

_You will always feel this bad._

She still felt his kiss...his _mark..._

_It's all the same._

Trembling, Vera looked up and saw a woman completely different from her in the mirror, staring right back at her. This woman looked worse than the last one from a few months before.

Much, much worse.

A terrible feeling within Vera began to rise up...threatening to take over. Only this time, it wasn't nausea. It wasn't fear. It wasn't anger. It was an urge to let something deep, deep within her soul out.

She threw her head back and let out a terrifying sound. A shrill sound, an eerie sound, a sound that had been held back for way too long.

A _scream._

She screamed like she had never screamed before. She let out the scream that should've come the night it happened to her the first time, when she learned she was pregnant, when she saw him in the bathroom, when he trapped her, and when he humiliated her in public.

Still screaming, Vera faced the woman in the mirror once more. This time, she was going to _destroy_ the woman. She threw one fist back and plunged it straight into the mirror. The woman vanished and in her place came shards of glass tumbling into the sink and finding their place in Vera's hand and wrist.

It was only then the screams stopped. Vera stopped and took a sudden, sharp breath. She was aware now of a sharp pain in her right hand. She looked down and saw the glass stained with crimson. The blood on her hands...just like Lady Macbeth, causing her to laugh an insane laugh.

Lady Macbeth saw blood on her hands, and so did Vera. Lady Macbeth had caused the deaths of over half the people in the story. Vera had only caused two deaths, those of Cyril's and Judge Wargrave's. Now she longed to cause a third death: Her own.

The door burst open, causing Vera to abruptly stop laughing and look up. In came her mother, with the best worried expression on her face she could cook up. It was a lie, of course. Vera knew that. Hadn't Lombard himself pretended to be concerned over her well-being just two hours ago? Hadn't her own father pretended to be concerned before he abandoned his own daughter?

A quotation came to Vera's mind: _All the world's a stage and the men and women merely players._ Yes, her life was really just one big stage where the actors all tried to act like they were worried about her and then snicker about her life once they were in the wings. Well this time, she was not going to take it.

"Vera!" cried her mother, running up to her.

"Stay away from me," said Vera sharply, backing up.

A hurt and confused expression flickered across her mother's face. "Honey, I only want to _help_ you," she said.

"_Help?"_ laughed Vera in an almost deranged state. "You want to _help_ me? So _that's_ why you didn't stop me from going over to Mrs. Ashcroft's and having this happen to me all over again, because you wanted to _help _me. Well, stop helping!"

Her mother flinched.

"How could you?" said Vera shrilly. "How could you _let _this _happen_ to me?!? I never _asked_ for it to happen, nor did I ask for this _thing,"_ she gestured to her stomach, "to happen either. Which reminds me...do you really think I _want_ it? Do you think I even _love_ it?"

"Vera, calm down," said her mother slowly. "You're going to hurt yourself."

Vera ignored this and went on: "You _never_ asked me what _I_ wanted! It was all about _you _wanting to be a precious _grandmother_ with a precious_ grandchild_ all over again! You really thought I _wanted_ to be a mother to some _baby_ that will only remind me of some horrible night I'm trying to forget?!?"

Vera was beginning to get a little short of breath, but she didn't let that stop her: "It never occurred to you that maybe I wanted to go against our _precious_ church and _kill it?!?_ Or that maybe I wanted to give it up and never see its face if it would resemble its father?"

She took a breath and said coldly, "You're the most selfish woman I know, you know that? I _hate_ you."

She hoped this would drive the message home a bit more clearly. When her mother's expression did not change, she screamed, "You hear me? I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I—hate—you—oh God..."

Vera closed her eyes and clutched her chest. She was feeling like a car was slowly running her over, crushing her lungs, stopping her from breathing...

"Vera?" said her mother's concerned voice.

"I...can't...breathe," Vera gasped, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Vera? Vera!" said her mother's concerned voice.

_It's all the same_ was the last thing to go through Vera's head before she knew no more.


	13. A Mother's Love

13

**A Mother's Love**

The following Monday proved to be a wee bit chilly for anyone to go around for a walk outside, prompting Lombard to stay indoors. Not that he'd really _want_ to go outside anyway. He decided he'd wait a bit to see how successful his plan had been. Evelyn's discovery had landed him in jail once again until it was _finally_ proven he hadn't raped her again (in their eyes).

Whose misfortune would this be? His for landing in jail again? Hers for being exposed? Only time would tell.

Lombard was woken up from his afternoon nap by the violent rapping on the door. It was obvious from the pounding that the person at his door was _not_ happy in the least.

"It's that crazy sister of hers," he muttered, getting up and walking to the door, prepared to deal with whatever nonsense was about to come his way.

Nothing in the world could've prepared him for what he was really about to face the moment he opened the door.

Before Lombard had a chance to say, "Mother," she came storming in without saying so much as hello to her own son. He walked up to her and said, "Mother, you look really angry. Sit down and I'll make you some tea."

"Well," said Carolina huffily, "would you be pleased to find out your own _son_ mentally tortured a girl who was already unstable and landed her in an asylum?"

Lombard placed one hand on his hip and the other on the dining table where Carolina slammed her purse on with a resounding 'thud'. "So that's what they're saying," he said.

"Do you know what _else_ I heard?" said Carolina sharply, looking up. "They're saying she's _pregnant._"

Lombard's hand fell off the dining table and by his side. "So now you know."

"Yes, I do," said Carolina icily.

"Mother, I told you already," said Lombard, walking up to her. "It wasn't rape. She got scared. That's all."

"Whether or not you raped her on the night that baby was conceived is not the issue at hand here," said Carolina, sounding a bit calmer. "What's important is what happened the second time. I hear people saying all sorts of things and I don't know _what_ to believe anymore."

Curious to find out the success of his plan, Lombard asked, "What do you hear people say?"

"Well," said Carolina, "there was apparently some sort of incident on Saturday morning. You and this Vera Claythorne came out of a house after spending the night together. You proposed to her and put her on the spot. You claimed you were in love. You even told her she shouldn't accuse you of _rape._"

Lombard began wringing his hands together. The neighbours at least knew the basic details. "Anything else?" he asked.

"What I just told you is the only part that sounds close to the truth," sighed Carolina. "Half of them are saying you and Miss Claythorne hatched a scheme to pretend to look after some elderly woman's cat so you could have sex, the other half are saying she came to you _begging_ to be taken to bed and that she shouldn't be prosecuting you for rape at all when she, as they put it, 'asked for it', and a small portion are saying you _raped_ her. Tell me, Philip: Which one is the truth?"

Lombard now clenched his hands together into one fist. So he had varying success; others believed him and others did not. How to put his mother into the former group, not the latter? He smiled and said, "What do you _think,_ mother?"

"I don't know," said Carolina softly. "That's why I'm asking you."

Lombard shook his head. "Mother, I really don't think you _need_ to ask," he said. "You know I'm innocent."

Carolina could only look at him with disbelief.

"Oh, what?" said Lombard frustratingly. "Now she's got _you_ convinced, too? She's _lying,_ mother. She's prosecuting me out of malicious spite. She has _no_ reason to do this."

"You promised me you would at least _try_ to empathize with her," said Carolina, her voice wavering with varying emotions. "I have yet to see you carry out with such a promise. _Think,_ Philip, _think._ If she was scared on that island, yes, she _does_ have reason to do this, even if you _didn't_ do anything to her."

Lombard could only shake his head in disgust. She was _still_ in this mindset that all women who cried rape were innocent? Just because _she_ had gone through it...

"And she's _pregnant,_ Philip," said Carolina quietly. "With _your _baby."

"How do you know it's mine?" said Lombard coldly. "How do you know she wasn't seeing someone else at around the same time she met me?"

"Because," said Carolina in the same, quiet tone, "the people were saying she had no lover they knew of until they heard of you. And they also said she stated it was _your_ baby when you confronted her."

"So what if it's mine?" said Lombard quietly. "So what? Doesn't mean it came from rape, now does it? You don't think history's _repeating_ itself, do you?"

"No," said Carolina. "But how do you think she must feel, to have this humiliating incident be exposed to the public, to have it drive her insane to the point where her own _mother_ has to place her in an asylum? I still remember the glares I would get walking down the street when I began to show. People would shake their heads in disgust and mutter how I had been loose and irresponsible, and none of them even _knew_ what _really_ happened."

"She's not _you,_ mother!" burst out Lombard angrily, slamming one fist down on the table. "She's _lying_ because she's incapable of feeling _any_ pleasure _at_ _all!_ She's—she's _frozen,_ is what she is!"

Carolina flinched and took a step back. "I still remember what you said to me that day," she said quietly. "You said 'I am absolutely _nothing_ like my father'. And you were right. You're not like your father. You're worse."

She grabbed her purse and marched towards the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Lombard could only stand there, stunned that he had lost the one ally he thought would always be constant. Then he proceeded to prepare himself a snack. Such trivialities could not be dwelled on.

* * *

Evelyn hated the asylum the moment she stepped inside, even while waiting out in the corridor with her mother. It was certainly no Bedlam house, thank God, but it still unnerved her very much. _Everything_ was white—the halls, the floors, the chairs, even the reception desk. She could not spot a speck of colour in this horrible place.

Finally, the doctor came out, much to their relief. "Miss Claythorne and the baby are just fine," he said calmly. "She has been doing relatively well since she was brought here Saturday night."

Evelyn wrung her wrists. After Vera's anxiety attack, she was placed in a room in the hospital to recover. Once there was assurance she and the baby would be fine, her mother announced out of the blue Vera would have to be put in a mental asylum for a few days "until she's a bit more stable". Evelyn still wasn't sure how sound this decision had been. True, Vera _had_ sounded unhinged in the bathroom; from what her mother had told her, she had been _laughing_ when she was bleeding. She had gone from screaming to laughing to screaming to passing out. On the other, it angered her that she had been driven to this...

"Relatively well, doctor?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"Yes, she," said the doctor slowly, "she doesn't really _talk._ Actually, she just lies there in bed all day. She gets up to eat and go to the bathroom, sure, but otherwise, she lies there and either sleeps or lies awake staring at the ceiling. None of us can get her to say so much as a peep, I'm afraid."

It only now that Evelyn was aware the rage she felt was making her tremble. Philip Lombard had _better_ have justice administered to him; if not, she would see to it, even if it meant risking everything...

"How long will she be like this, doctor?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"I cannot say," said the doctor. "If one of you talked to her, it might help."

"She's not going to be like this for the rest of her pregnancy, is she?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"The pregnancy," Evelyn angrily muttered, turning on her heel and beginning to storm down the hall.

"Evelyn, wait," said Mrs. Claythorne, running after her eldest daughter.

The doctor smiled sadly. It was heartbreaking to see reactions like this, especially when an unborn child was being dragged into it.

* * *

Mrs. Claythorne finally caught up to Evelyn outside the building by a large, shady tree. "Evelyn," she said, walking up to her. "What's gotten you so upset?"

"The pregnancy," said Evelyn sharply, whipping in her mother's direction. "Your younger daughter is lying in a lunatic's bed in an almost vegetative state that she may very well be stuck in for the rest of her miserable life and all you're concerned about is that goddamned _baby._ Did it ever occur to you that it's not just _her_ child she's carrying, it's also _his_ child, the child of her _attacker,_ her—her _rapist?"_

Her voice riled up with emotion, Evelyn went on: "I heard a lot of what she said to you that day, mother. Perhaps she shouldn't have said it _that_ way, but don't you think there was a _smidgen_ of truth in what she said? You never really asked her what she wanted, did you. You just assumed she _wanted_ this baby and all but said you wanted her to keep it."

"Just stop it," said Mrs. Claythorne sharply. "Just...stop. I _know_ I'm a horrible mother, okay? I _know_ I failed to protect my daughter from being _raped._ Here I was, thinking I could protect her from anything...and then _this..._"

She shook her head, her voice on the verge of breaking up. "Do you think I _enjoyed_ getting that call from the police telling me that not only was my daughter mentally tortured, she was also _raped?_ Do you think my heart _didn't_ break in that moment? You're a mother yourself, Evelyn. Imagine how _you_ would feel if something happened to Derek. Wouldn't it kill you inside to see him going through so much pain that he couldn't even tell _you_ about? Wouldn't you want to make him feel better in whatever way you could by trying to get him to look on the positive side of things, to assure him life wasn't always going to be this bad?"

Evelyn felt ashamed to see the tears forming in her mother's eyes. "Mother," she said softly. "Of course I would."

"I didn't even _know_ what Vera was feeling when we found out about the baby," said Mrs. Claythorne in a quivering voice. "She wouldn't tell me. I just wanted her to be _happy._ I thought, maybe this isn't as drastic as you think it is, she's always wanted to be a mother, right? So...so I hoped that by getting her to see the miracle in having a baby and becoming a mother, she would begin to feel better about herself. I _never_ mean to put any pressure on her _at all._ And...it was my second grandchild, too."

She broke down sobbing and fell into Evelyn's arms. By now, Evelyn was tearing up, too. The two women held each other and cried for several minutes before finally separating.

"I'm sorry, mother," said Evelyn quietly. "I know you didn't _mean_ to put any pressure on her, but you did without intending to. I think we should go in and assure her we'll support her no matter what she chooses."

"Yes," said Mrs. Claythorne, nodding. "I think so, too."

"And mother," said Evelyn. "If Vera doesn't want to keep the baby and makes...other choices...would you really be okay with it?"

"Of course I would," said Mrs. Claythorne, holding her head up. "It would take me a while to accept it, but if it's what makes her happy, then by all means yes."

Evelyn held her mother's hand. She had a feeling her mother was going to have to be strong.


	14. Right and Wrong

14

**Right and Wrong**

"_Mr. Lombard it's me, open up."_

Vera had always wondered what it would be like to just lie in bed all day and _think._ Now she knew.

"_Let everything happen."_

Not that she hadn't done it before; she just hadn't done it as excessively as now.

"_You came to me almost naked and then you'll scream."_

It was almost...peaceful. Like this room. The cracks in the ceiling told stories to her. They whispered to her tales of lands where women never got raped and never got pregnant.

"_You have to drink something, Miss Claythorne."_

Once in a while, though, there would be intervals of her thoughts telling part of the story for her.

"_It's important to get through the night."_

She never wanted to leave, she wanted to stay. She'd be perfectly happy here all by herself...she and the baby...they would live far, far away from everyone else, they would need not the trial to worry them...

"Vera?"

This was not one of the voices inside her head; this was an actual voice threatening to bring her back to the harsh world of reality.

"Vera, can you hear me?"

Vera slowly nodded her head and closed her eyes. Whatever her sister needed to say would be said, then she would go back to her reality.

* * *

_Good, she's nodding,_ thought Evelyn with relief, glad to know the woman in white (God, even the _gown_ was white!) with a mass of dark hair on the white pillow was a person, not a vegetable. She was glad to be able to reach out to her sister _somehow._

"I came by to let you know that mother's worried about you," said Evelyn, bringing her chair in a bit closer. "She cares for you, you know. She just wants you to be happy. How about I let her in right now to talk to you? Would you like that?"

There was a second's hesitance before Vera slowly nodded her head.

"Good," said Evelyn, getting up. "I'll just be outside."

Evelyn walked out of the room and said to her mother, "She's awake and aware. You can talk to her; I'll wait."

Mrs. Claythorne went in after Evelyn and closed the door behind her. She hesitatingly approached the figure lying in bed. Was this really the same lively daughter who was laughing at her birthday months before? The same person who smiled and once loved life?

"Vera," said Mrs. Claythorne softly, sitting down on the uncomfortable white chair next to the bed. "It's me. Your mother."

Vera opened her eyes and shifted her body away from her mother.

"I feel it's time for us to talk," said Mrs. Claythorne. "To really address your feelings about your...situation. I know it's hard for you to talk about it, so let me do all the talking, okay?"

She heard a soft voice whisper tearfully, "I'm sorry."

"Don't talk," said Mrs. Claythorne, gently tucking her daughter in. "Just listen. Now I understand why you said what you said. You were angry and upset and confused...you were feeling so many emotions all at once. As a mother, you learn to deal with days where your child is angry at the world and at you. Some women are able to handle it. Others are not."

Vera slowly turned in her mother's direction, revealing two tears running slowly down her face.

Mrs. Claythorne went on: "What I'm trying to say is, motherhood is not best for everyone. If you wish to...do otherwise...I am willing to support you. And if you decide you _can _make it work, I am willing to support you even then, too."

She hesitated, waiting for some sort of reaction from Vera, who rolled back over on her back and closed her eyes, appearing calm and relaxed.

"Well," said Mrs. Claythorne, getting up. "Goodbye."

She took one last look at the fragile figure in bed before walking straight ahead.

* * *

Lombard met up with his lawyer the next morning, expecting to find some sort of breakthrough to prove his innocence. What he found instead was only further proof his lawyer was sentimental.

"Well, congratulations," said Mr. Hutchins when Lombard told him the news.

"Congratulations?" asked Lombard, raising an eyebrow. "This woman could use her pregnancy against me in court, and you're saying 'congratulations'?"

"True, she _could_ use it against you in court," said Mr. Hutchins. "Provided she can _prove_ it's your child, of course."

"And if she can't prove it?" asked Lombard hopefully.

"Well, there is no sure fire way to _dis_prove it," admitted Mr. Hutchins. "It could all play out in either your favour, or in her favour."

"And how could I play it out in _my_ favour?" asked Lombard.

"You could admit to having fathered the child," replied Mr. Hutchins.

Lombard stared at Mr. Hutchins as though he had suggested the two men go running naked in the Queen's palace. "You can't be _serious,"_ he said.

"Ah," said Mr. Hutchins, raising a finger. "I only said you can admit to _fathering_ the child, _but_ we could still strike up the argument that the child is _not_ a child from rape. From a one-night stand, yes; from rape, no."

Lombard shook his head. "I can't believe you're saying this," he muttered. "Why can't we just question the child's paternity?"

"We could, but there is no way to prove it," said Mr. Hutchins.

A devilish grin spread across Lombard's face as he said, "Could we, perhaps, _provide_ such proof?"

"I don't like what you're implying, Mr. Lombard," said Mr. Hutchins warningly. "Not only is perjury _illegal_, it is also _dishonourable._ Both our reputations would be shot."

"Mine? Maybe," Lombard mused. "But Hutchins, you're a _lawyer_; it wouldn't really do much to change your reputation at all."

"I'm not _that_ kind of lawyer," said Mr. Hutchins tensely. "Most men are, but I am not. I am a straight man who believes in giving every one of his clients a fair trial."

"Just my luck," muttered Lombard, thinking, _No wonder seldom real criminals actually go to you._

"Or we could try to dismiss it," suggested Mr. Hutchins. "We could simply strike up the argument that the pregnancy at hand is irrelevant and that getting a woman pregnant is in itself not a crime. Would that be more satisfactory?"

"Better than nothing, I suppose," muttered Lombard, shrugging his shoulders.

"And there is something else I would like to discuss with you," said Mr. Hutchins. "I have heard...rumours about you, Mr. Lombard. Something about an incident on Saturday."

Lombard sat up straight in his chair, hoping not to give himself away. "You don't say," he said.

"Yes, I...heard that you tricked Miss Claythorne into coming over and then you publicly humiliated her," said Mr. Hutchins slowly. "At least, that's how _most_ people put it; others are a bit nicer. In any event, this is not going to endear you to the judge if it ever gets back to Miss Claythorne's lawyer."

"Can't we say that's just based on malicious rumours, too?" asked Lombard.

"I'm sorry, but there were apparently enough witnesses to the event to suggest the allegations are very true," said Mr. Hutchins in a less warming tone.

"Well, did they actually _see_ me doing anything harmful to Miss Claythorne?" asked Lombard. "Did they hear me saying anything derogatory to her? Or did they simply see a love struck man trying to convince his girlfriend to put the past behind her and look to the future?"

He smirked at the stunned look on Mr. Hutchins' face. "Exactly," said Lombard. He got up. "Well, I'll see you later, Hutchins."

As Lombard began to walk out of the office, Mr. Hutchins began to realize he had bitten off more than he could chew when he agreed to defend Philip Lombard.


	15. The Decision

15

**The Decision**

It was exactly one week since the 'incident' that Mrs. Claythorne and Evelyn found themselves back at the asylum. They had been called over by the doctor to tell them Vera wished to speak to them. About what, they were not told.

"You don't think it's about the baby, do you," said Evelyn, walking down the same white halls that made her feel vermin crawling all over her flesh.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Mrs. Claythorne. "In any event, if she is able to request speaking to us, I would assume it means she's taking one more step to getting better. Maybe I'll be able to bring her home tomorrow."

"Yes," said Evelyn, her eyes darting to the white tiles. "Maybe."

* * *

Vera sat up in bed, playing with her hands. She had done a lot of thinking these past few days—especially about the baby. She didn't know if her decision was the right one, but she did know it was one she was satisfied with, and that was what mattered, right? And besides, thinking about what to do was better than not thinking at all, as she had discovered.

"Don't hate me, mother," muttered Vera. "Just please don't hate me."

She heard the door open, causing her to look up. She saw her mother and sister come in, both of whom were smiling.

"Vera," they both said. Her mother ran up to bed and held Vera's hand, remembering she was probably still sensitive to touch. She smiled and said, "How are you doing?"

"Better, I think," said Vera quietly. "I'm no longer just lying there, waiting for my existence to be over and done with."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Mrs. Claythorne gently.

"And you know," said Vera, "I think I might just be ready to go home tomorrow."

"That's great," said Evelyn, taking a chair. "Then, and this is just a suggestion, perhaps we could take your mind off all this by going Christmas shopping? I know it's a bit early, but you know me; I like to shop earlier to avoid the rush."

"Perhaps, if I'm up to it," nodded Vera. She sat up a bit straighter and said, "I think you both know the real reason I wanted you here today."

"It's about the baby, isn't it," said Mrs. Claythorne, taking the other chair and letting go of Vera's hand.

"Ever since you and Evelyn last visited," said Vera, "I've been thinking. I've been thinking long and hard about what it is I really want to do. It's not something I _want_ to think about, but I _have_ to."

She bit her lip nervously. She took a deep breath and said, "Mother...I want you to know that I appreciate your help and I don't know where I'd be without you, but..."

"Oh Vera, I _completely_ understand if you want an abortion," said Mrs. Claythorne sympathetically. "Even if it's not right to _me,_ I want what's right for _you._ And if an abortion will make you happy...then go ahead. I'll even pay for it. And if your father asks, I'll say you had a miscarriage."

"An abortion?" said Vera, frowning. "No, that's not what I was going to say at all. But I _can_ say I am seeing this through."

She looked over at Evelyn. "It's just not _right_ to me. I don't know how to explain it, but...maybe it_ is_ right for _some_ women, but...just not _me._"

"I understand," said Evelyn solemnly.

"Oh, then you _are_ going to make motherhood work after all?" said Mrs. Claythorne hopefully. "Don't worry about a _thing,_ Vera; I'll stay as long as you need me to help with the baby. In fact, you could even go back to school in the fall next year while I stay home and take care of it and—"

"Mother," said Vera, raising a hand. "Please let me finish." She lowered that hand. She took another deep breath before saying, "I can't abort it...but I can't be a mother, either. Look at me." She gestured to herself in the bed. "I'm _incredibly_ vulnerable now more than ever. I keep so much inside and then let it out at the people I love."

She turned to her mother. "I'm not emotionally stable enough to raise a child right now. I want to be a mother _some_ day...but not now. Not while my life is such a horrible mess."

"So," said her mother slowly, "you...you're going to..."

"Yes, mother," said Vera, looking her mother straight in the eye. "I'm giving it up. As soon as this baby is born, it is going to a family that will love it and give it everything I can't."

Her voice began to break up, but Vera went on: "Most of all, I don't want it to be anywhere _near_ its father. The further away it is, the better."

"We could move," said Mrs. Claythorne quickly. "If he isn't convicted, we could move somewhere far away where he won't ever find us—"

"He'd track us down anyway," said Vera, looking down at her thumbs and playing with them mindlessly. "He'd find a way to get to us."

"Well, we'll have nothing to worry about if he _is _convicted," said Mrs. Claythorne in just as quick a tone.

"And when he is let out?" asked Vera, looking up. Her eyes were becoming blurry with tears. "Mother...I know you secretly want me to keep this baby, but I _can't._ I _know_ how big a responsibility a baby is, and mother, I just _can't_ do it."

Her voice was becoming something of a sob, but Vera went on, blinking away the tears: "If I'm going to give this baby _a_ life, I don't want it to be a horrible one with someone who's not _ready_ to be a mother."

She reached for the tissues by the bed and wiped away her tears, feeling soothed by the soft tissue brushing her cheeks.

"So when do you want to see an agency?" asked Mrs. Claythorne quietly.

"Not right now," admitted Vera, crumpling up the tissue and placing it by her bedside. "I want to give myself time to accept this decision and really _think_ about it. Perhaps we could go after the holidays?"

"Perhaps," spoke up Evelyn for the first time since Vera announced her decision. "We should take this time to relax and take our minds off of this. Although, we'll _have_ to shop for maternity clothes next week; you're running out of outfits that actually fit you."

Vera nodded and said, "There's only one thing I'm worried about." She smiled a bittersweet smile. "It's a stupid worry, though."

"No worries of yours are stupid, Vera," said Evelyn. "What is it?"

Vera looked down at the white blankets. "My students," she said softly. "If they _knew—_a lot of those girls had a great deal of respect for me before...what will they say if they find out through their parents? How will I ever be able to face them again if I go back?"

"I'm sure their parents will tell them to be sensitive enough not to say anything," said Evelyn calmly. "And I'm sure they won't give them _all_ the details. If they do, they won't think any less of you for it."

Vera closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow. "I'm feeling tired," she said. "But I'll be ready to come home tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to let the doctors know that," said Mrs. Claythorne, standing up. "I'll check you out tomorrow morning at around ten." She said, "Well...see you tomorrow, Vera."

She heard the sound of her mother's shoes clicking the floor before the sound of her sister saying, "Well...goodbye, Vera."

"Goodbye," murmured Vera. She waited for her sister to leave before letting out a mighty sigh, sincerely hoping she was doing the right thing.


	16. Reflection and Obsession

16

**Reflection and Obsession**

Even when Vera came home the next morning, she still felt as though she hadn't gotten enough rest. She wasn't tired enough to _sleep;_ she just wanted to lie down in bed and just _rest._

And so she did, finding that she felt more comfortable in her own bed than in that...place. Was it hormones, or was the entire experience just emotionally draining? She thought it was a bit of both.

Vera sat up in bed when she heard the door creak open. Her mother came in, holding an album in her arms. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"I feel a bit drained," admitted Vera, looking off. She hoped her mother wasn't _too_ heartbroken over her decision, though she had detected disappointment.

"As anyone would be," said Mrs. Claythorne, sitting down on the bed. "Look what I brought." She opened up the album wide. "Do you recognize the little girl in those photographs?"

"That's me," said Vera softly, her eyes sadly focused on the smiling little girl in the photographs, blowing out her birthday candles and opening up her gifts. "I remember that. It was my seventh birthday, right?"

"Yes it was," nodded Mrs. Claythorne.

Vera gave the little girl a pitying smile. Poor girl. She didn't even know of what was to come her way when she grew up. If only she could go back and warn the girl...oh, if only she could go back to those carefree days when she knew nothing of the horrors people were capable of inflicting onto others, when she thought babies could only be born in love, and just be happy!

"You remember those days, don't you," said Mrs. Claythorne gently. "Back when you were happy and carefree?"

Vera nodded and turned the pages. There she was, on Christmas day...on her thirteenth birthday, where she received her very first kiss from...Warren...there she was on Easter with Evelyn by her side, who had over-applied make-up in a vain attempt to cover up her acne...

"Poor Evelyn," sighed Vera. "I still remember the days when she would refuse to come out of the bathroom for hours at a time. I don't think I was plagued with it as much as she was, though."

"No," said Mrs. Claythorne. "You got off a bit luckier."

Vera turned the pages on and on. There she was at sixteen, the age where she truly began to blossom from an awkward teenager into a beautiful woman. Her hair, once limp and lifelessly straight, had begun to gain some sort of life with a very soft curl. As did all of her.

Vera turned another page and another. So many _memories_ from when she was young and naive and trusting of the world around her...she saw pictures of Richard and Evelyn, of herself and Fleta becoming closer, of herself and...

"Hugo," whispered Vera softly, lightly running her fingers over the photograph of herself and Hugo on her birthday. Her hair, neatly primed and curled for the occasion, her eyes, bright and full of love. Hugo was standing next to her, his arms around her, holding her in his embrace.

She looked at the photograph on the next page: It was another one of herself and Hugo on his birthday before they had gone off to that restaurant and...she began to plot Cyril's demise...

"I know you're probably wondering why I'm keeping these photos," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Well, I personally believe that every good memory should be cherished, even if it doesn't last forever."

Vera's eyes went back over to the birthday picture. She had been fairly modest, yet she noticed the dress was rather...short. It wasn't _that_ short, but it at least _looked_ short. She found herself wishing to go back to the days when she wasn't ashamed of her own body and could wear such dresses without expecting men to walk up to her and ask how much she charged.

"I know things seem bad now," said Mrs. Claythorne gently. "But they will get better. You'll see."

She smiled and got off the bed, standing up. "Well, have a nice rest, sweetie," she said.

Vera turned two more pages as the door gently creaked shut. She came across a picture of herself and her family last Christmas, all looking happier than ever, not knowing of the future that lay ahead of them.

Vera managed to crack a very small, genuine smile, not a mask put on to deceive the public. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe life wouldn't be so bad forever. Maybe, once the trial was over and the baby was given up for adoption, things really would get better.

Maybe.

* * *

Nightfall provided no solace for Philip Lombard. All day, he had been thinking about her, about the whore whose ruination of his life had a good chance of becoming complete in just a matter of months—Vera Claythorne.

He saw her wherever he went. He would have his own meals and think of her. He would walk down the streets and think every brunette he saw was she. He would go home to sleep and see her in his dreams...but these were not _natural_ dreams. They were dreams where she would return to his room on the island and give all of herself to him. He would _feel_ their thighs brushing against each other with a sudden force, the heated friction beginning to reach its climax before waking up in a sweat.

Lombard, simply put, could not put any of these fantasies out of his mind. They would return with a sudden force, each worse than the last.

And now, when it was a little past midnight, he was still up, keenly observing the orange and yellow colours licking the logs of his fireplace. He could only sit and stare into the fire, thinking, _How did it all come to this? How can I have such thoughts about the woman who seeks to destroy what remains of my life?_

He fumbled through his pocket for a cigarette...and instead pulled out something he had just about forgotten: Her shawl.

Smooth, black, and warm, Lombard rubbed it against the gradual-growing stubble on his face (he supposed it would soon be time for a shave). How soothing it felt...almost like a security blanket...it brushed against his nose and he inhaled its scent in a rather unhealthy manner, imaging its owner in his arms, holding her close to him, telling him never to stop...

Alarmed, he yanked the thing away from his face. He curled his fingers up in it, imagining it to be its owner's neck, squeezing tightly. She was not going to get the better of him. Not now, not ever.

Lombard loosened up his grip on the shawl. Then, with great force, he tossed the wretched thing straight into the fire. It was only now he realized how truly tired he was. He stood up, but before retiring for the night, his eyes focused solely on the orange and yellow colours consuming the black.


	17. What to Believe

17

**What to Believe**

"Glad _that's_ over with," muttered Vera as she and Evelyn walked out of the maternity clothing store and out into the snowy streets, trying to ignore the stares digging into her neck.

Five days had come and gone, and the time for Vera to start shopping for maternity clothes had finally arrived, though it did not come without a great deal of embarrassment from the looks she would get when it finally dawned upon the customers who had not heard the gossip that it was not Evelyn who needed such clothes, but her unmarried sister. Evelyn had snapped, "What are you all staring it?" but it did little to spare Vera's desire to disappear.

"Personally, I was expecting them to be a bit _ruder,"_ said Evelyn. She muttered under her breath, "It's a good thing they _weren't,_ for their sake at least." She stopped walking suddenly. "Do you hear that?" she said.

Vera strained her ears to listen...sure enough, she could hear two men arguing, one of them raising their voice a bit louder than needed.

Evelyn took Vera by the wrist and gently took her a few steps forward while holding on tight to the bags containing the clothes. The two women saw a medium-sized crowd gathered near the source of the fighting, which seemed to be coming from down an alley.

Evelyn took a peek around the corner. Just as Vera was about to follow, Evelyn sharply pressed Vera against the walls and put a finger to her lips.

"We are leaving," mouthed Evelyn. _"Now."_

"But why?" mouthed Vera.

"_Him,"_ mouthed Evelyn, her eyes wide.

Vera understood...even more so when she heard a voice that sounded familiar shouting, "I—DID—NOT—RAPE—VERA—CLAYTHORNE—AND I WILL _REPEAT_ THAT STORY UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!"

Vera and Evelyn exchanged a glance and both ran down the streets before anyone, least of all Lombard, had a chance to see the subject of the argument.

* * *

Ten minutes earlier, Lombard had gone out for a simple cup of coffee downtown. In the cafe, he hadn't exactly been treated like royalty. The woman selling him the coffee had acted slightly cold. The people around him stopped to stare and talked in hushed whispers. He acted as though he couldn't hear them, but he heard fragments of, "It's him...it's his baby...maybe he didn't do it...maybe he did...he looks guilty to me..."

Finally, Lombard got fed up and left his half-empty cup of coffee on the counter and stormed out of the cafe. His hands were cold, not even the coffee had warmed them up. He rubbed his hands together fervently, walking down the snowy pavement. As he did, he came across Morley. "Ah, Morley, old chap," he said, walking up to Morley, who appeared to be taking a step back. "How's the baby?"

"Oh, just fine," said Morley uncomfortably. "Jen's on the top of the world. Chester can't wait to be a big brother. Everything's just fine." He cleared his throat. "So, how have you been?"

"Okay, I guess," shrugged Lombard. "I think I might find a new job, but I' m going to wait until this misunderstanding blows over."

"And what if it doesn't?" asked Morley.

"Must we talk of that possibility now, when it's so close to Christmas?" said Lombard with a friendly smile, putting one arm around Morley's shoulder. "Let's talk."

The two men walked down the street together. "Is Chester enjoying school?" asked Lombard.

"He is, actually," said Morley. "He just doesn't like the headmaster, who can be a bit strict at times."

"Remember the nuns who used to give me a real wallop?" laughed Lombard. "You were always trying to talk me out of doing something stupid, and then I'd end up in trouble." He laughed, "Oh, those were the days."

"Right," said Morley uneasily. He said hesitatingly, "Lombard...I heard the rumours."

"Oh?" said Lombard, taking his arm off Morley's shoulder. "You have, have you?"

"Yes, I have," said Morley. "And I have to ask you: Are any of them _true?"_

"Well, it depends," said Lombard, putting his hands in his pockets. "What are the rumours about?"

"Oh, they're basically about how you proposed to that Claythorne girl who gives you so much trouble," said Morley, his eyes shifting. "The jury's still out amongst the gossipers on whether or not you raped her, but a fact they _do_ know for certain is that she's pregnant and the child is allegedly yours."

The two men stopped walking. "Now, is that true?" asked Morley.

Lombard smiled uneasily and said, "Well, yes, I have to admit she _is_ pregnant, and the child may or may not be mine. But Morley, even if it _is_ mine, that doesn't mean it's a child of rape, now does it?"

"No," admitted Morley. "It doesn't."

"Good," said Lombard, giving Morley a pat on the shoulder in the same way one would give a dog a pat on the head for performing the right trick. "See you later."

He began to turn on his heel and walk forward before Morley called out, "But you didn't confirm the proposal, or whether or not you raped her a second time."

Lombard stopped walking. He turned around and walked up to Morley, his smile now tight. He grabbed Morley by the wrist and took him down a nearby alley. "Now, Morley," he said in a quiet voice, "I did what I had to do to prove my innocence, and we'll leave it at that."

Morley had a blank look on his face—then laughed. "I get it now," he laughed a bit loudly. "I get it all too perfectly—you planned on proving to the world that you did not rape Miss Claythorne by actually raping her. Oh yes, that makes a _lot_ of sense!"

"Morley!" hissed Lombard, hoping any nearby listeners had not heard that last bit. "Keep your voice down!"

"Why should I?" said Morley in the same, loud voice. "Why would you want me to be quiet if you had nothing to hide? I had my doubts when you called me to pick you up that day, and now they appear to be confirmed—you, my good sir, are a sociopath! You don't care who gets hurt, or if what you're doing is socially acceptable or not, or even if what's left of your family hates you; no, _you _care about creating your own utopia at other's expense!"

Lombard could notice a crowd beginning to form out of the corner of his eye. _Oh, the dramatic irony,_ he thought bitterly before saying, "So that's it. You're just going to _assume_ I'm guilty just like everyone else."

"Now Lombard," Morley began, but Lombard cut him off: "You seriously think that just because some _whore_ comes along and bats her _precious_ eyes and cries about how the mean, scary man touched her that automatically means I'm _guilty?"_

"Lombard—"

"Whatever happened to 'innocent until proven guilty', hmm? What about waiting until I've gotten a fair trial? Doesn't _that_ matter?"

"Everyone deserves a fair trial, but—"

"Everyone except _me,_ right?" Lombard took a deep breath and said almost shrilly, "She came to me, Morley! You hear that? _She_ came to _me._ I just want everyone to accept that and move on."

"Now, Lombard," said Morley, taking a few steps forward. "I understand your wanting a fair trial. That's what every man wants. But honestly, Phil, the way you keep going on and on about how you're innocent and she's the guilty one only makes _you_ look guilty. It makes me begin to doubt you. It scares me."

He took a few more steps forward. "This is not _you,_ Phil," he said, his hand lightly touching Lombard's face. "I've known you almost my entire life, and I know you are not a monster." His hand drew back. "But look at yourself—look at what you've _become._ You're barely even _human_ anymore. In fact...as much as I hate to say it...I'm beginning to believe you really _did_ rape—"

The anger that had slowly been building up inside Lombard boiled over. He grabbed Morley by the arms and slammed him against the brick wall and screamed, "I—DID—NOT—RAPE—VERA—CLAYTHORNE—AND I WILL _REPEAT _THAT STORY UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!"

It was only now that he realized what he had done. Morley stood up, shaking. He slowly backed off in fear before marching past the crowd all together.

Lombard, still seething, turned to face the gaping crowd. "Just you wait," he said coldly, marching forward through a parting crowd. "Everything will be cleared up in court and _then_ you will see."


	18. The Other Women

18

**The Other Women**

When Evelyn came home an hour later, she was greeted in the front hall by her husband, Richard, who looked very cross.

"Richard?" asked Evelyn, hanging up her coat. "Is something wrong?"

"Derek fell and scraped his knee while running around outside," said Richard calmly.

"Oh, my poor baby," said Evelyn, suddenly feeling guilty. "Where is he?"

"He's down for his nap now," said Richard. "While he was awake, however, he kept screaming for his mother."

"Oh," said Evelyn, feeling even guiltier.

"Evelyn, I think it's time we talked," said Richard, putting his arm around Evelyn's shoulders. He led her through the left archway into the living room and sat her down on the couch. "Now Evelyn, I understand Vera is going through a rough patch in her life and needs you now more than she ever has," said Richard calmly. "But the time you're spending with her is beginning to cut into the time you spend at the hospital _and _at home."

Evelyn said calmly, "Well for your information Richard, the time I spend with my sister is not affecting my job; I simply take the late-night shifts or the early morning shifts when Vera's sleeping. That was the deal I worked out with my employer."

Richard shook his head. "Evelyn," he said, "I met up with one of your co-workers yesterday, and she is not happy. She was complaining about how she always gets stuck doing your usual shifts because, as she puts it, 'of that whiny sister of hers'."

"Let me guess," sighed Evelyn. "Edith York? She's hated me since day one; she's always finding _something_ to complain about me. She was mad when I took time off to take care of Derek, remember?"

"Except," said Richard, hoping not to offend his wife, "I think there may just be a grain of truth in what she's saying. Does Vera _really_ need you _that_ badly? Are you sure she's not just out for attention?"

Evelyn's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe she was hearing this from her own _husband,_ especially someone who was normally as sensitive as Richard. "You can't be _serious,"_ she said. "Vera needs me to just _be_ there so she can take her mind off her troubles, or talk to me if she _does_ feel the need to talk about them."

"Her mother is staying with her, isn't that enough?" asked Richard, his voice as frosty as the window pane.

Reminding herself that Richard really was a good person, Evelyn said, "Mother's doing fine with helping Vera take care of herself, and providing company, but Vera doesn't feel as comfortable talking to her as she does with me."

"And you know that for certain?" asked Richard, raising an eyebrow.

"Richard," said Evelyn tensely, "what would you do if it was _me_ who had been raped? Wouldn't _you_ want to do whatever you could to get me to _trust_ again? Vera would certainly be there, but what about _you?"_

"I would be there," said Richard in the same, calm tone. "But I wouldn't go so far as to neglect my own son."

Evelyn clenched her fists. _"Neglect_ my own _son?!?"_ she cried.

"You're spending more time with your sister than you are with Derek," said Richard in an almost accusing voice. "You're with her nearly all the time, at the hospital for a small bit of time, and can only squeeze in me and Derek for just a few hours. Think of what this is going to do to Derek; he is at the stage where he will begin to form his earliest memories. Do you want him to remember how his mother was never there for him when he needed her?"

"And do you know what _my _earliest memories are?" said Evelyn angrily, shooting up from the couch. "The farthest back I can remember is the day my sister was born. Everything else before that is blank. I remember waiting outside my parents' bedroom listening to my mother _screaming_ before my father taking me in and introducing me to my baby sister for the first time."

Tears of anger began to form in Evelyn's eyes. "You've never _had_ a sister, so you wouldn't understand," she said softly. "But I do. And she needs me. So do yourself a favour and wait until someone you love is put through an emotional hell. _Then _condemn me for neglecting my son."

With that, Evelyn turned on her heel and marched out of the living room, horrified at how her husband could be so unsympathetic.

* * *

It was late at night that Mrs. Claythorne sat by the phone and began to dial a number she had been secretly dialling once a week for the past three months. Vera was in bed and knew nothing of this, but she preferred to keep it that way.

"Fred, it's me," said Mrs. Claythorne when someone finally picked up.

"Hello, Clara," said her husband's gruff voice. "How's Vera?"

"She's made a decision," said Mrs. Claythorne flatly.

"About the baby?" asked Mr. Claythorne.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Claythorne. "She's giving it up for adoption."

"Oh," said Mr. Claythorne. "Well, if that's what she wants, considering what happened last week...Clara, are you sure you don't want me to come out there?"

"No, Fred, you have to stay," said Mrs. Claythorne quickly. "Someone has to look after the house."

"Well, can I at least come for Christmas?" asked Mr. Claythorne. "I would at least like the chance to see _our_ daughter."

"Fred," said Mrs. Claythorne, trying to find a proper way to explain it, "I know your attitude about women having babies out of wedlock. I'm just...afraid you may end up saying something hurtful, that's all."

"I'll _try_ to be sensitive," said Mr. Claythorne patiently. "I know Vera's a good girl. I know this wasn't her fault. And you know I at least show a smidgen of compassion towards women whose pregnancies came from rape."

"Then why did you never say anything about it before?" asked Mrs. Claythorne sharply. "Why is it that whenever you opened your mouth on the subject, it was always, 'women who have babies out of wedlock are irresponsible and committing a great sin against God for not wanting the father involved'? Why is that you never once took the rape victims into account, the ones who would have _reason_ to not want the father around?"

There was a pause on the other line before Mr. Claythorne said softly, "Because I never thought it would be an issue we would have to deal with."

"Well now it is," said Mrs. Claythorne softly. "So what are you going to do when you come?"

"So I _can_ come?" said Mr. Claythorne hopefully.

"Yes, you may," nodded Mrs. Claythorne. "Just...be careful about what you say."

"I will," promised Mr. Claythorne. "Well...good night, Clara."

"Good night, Fred," said Mrs. Claythorne, hanging up. She sat down on the couch and put her head in her hands. "God, what am I going to _do?"_ she muttered, hoping Christmas would be more peaceful than the past four months had been.


	19. Christmas Eve

19

**Christmas Eve**

Lombard buttoned up his shirt and zipped up his pants. It had been a while since he had last slept with a prostitute, so it still felt new to him when he finally found one who didn't charge too much, and whose bed looked it was at least kept clean. It wasn't the best way to spend Christmas Eve, but it was better than sitting at home moping, as he had been for the past month.

"What's the matter?" said the woman snidely. Lombard did not know her name, nor did he desire to know her name. She had long, blonde hair that looked as though many hands had run through it; blue eyes that had seen many different body types; and a body that had been taken many, many times before. She had a very cynical attitude, making Lombard grateful she was not his lover.

"Let me guess," said the woman, walking over to him. "You're thinking about your girlfriend, right?"

"No," said Lombard, shaking his head, straightening up his tie. "I have no girlfriend."

"Don't think you can't fool me," said the woman teasingly, playing with his tie before Lombard brushed her hands off. "I know you've got a sweetheart back home waiting for you. Relationship troubles, am I right? Chaste girlfriend, unwilling to give up her virginity just yet while you're forced to resist your sexual impulses, right? And I fixed everything up for you, right?"

"And how do _you_ know of my personal life?" asked Lombard, reaching for his jacket on the bed.

"Because," said the woman, putting a hand on his shoulder, "you said her name."

"When did I ever say her name?" said Lombard, putting his jacket on, not turning around to look at the woman.

"Oh, you know," sighed the woman. "We were getting into the height of it, and you started moaning, 'Vera, oh _Vera'_. Way to ruin a climax."

Lombard froze. Had he said that? Had he really? "Are you _sure_ I said that?" he asked.

"Aw, it's no big deal," said the woman nonchalantly. "I get it all the time; some guy's feeling guilty over the girlfriend he's cheating on, the one who wants to wait till their wedding night, and just as things start to heat up, the name pops out. Vera, huh. Kind of like that Vera I've been hearing about. That Claythorne girl who's got a _lot_ of problems."

"I've no reason to feel guilty," said Lombard quickly, searching for his shoes. "I never did anything to her; I don't even know anything _about_ her."

"Oh," said the woman. "Well, maybe you've got a girlfriend with the same name, am I right?"

"Yes," said Lombard, hoping to get this woman off his back. "Same name." He turned around to face her, now fully dressed. The woman had a knowing smirk on her face. "Well," he said uncomfortably. "Good night and happy Christmas. That money was not wasted."

The woman only shrugged and sat down on her bed.

Lombard opened the door and closed it behind him, walking down the hall and hoping to get out of this flat before anyone spotted him.

* * *

When Lombard finally made it home, he was exhausted. As soon as he changed into his pyjamas, he collapsed on the bed, ready to sleep, but his mind still racing.

Had he actually said _her_ name? He looked back...he began to remember his reasons for seeing a prostitute in the first place: the fantasies were beginning to come back, stronger than ever. They had gone away for a while after seeing Morley, but came back with a vengeance about a week ago. He would feel _her_ in his dreams, which were once again unholy and unnatural. She would be in his thoughts during the day, haunting him, teasing him of what they could do together. Unable to cope with it any longer, he had resolved to get rid of these thoughts once and for all by going down the usual street to find a good whore to pick up.

Lombard smiled. He had a good time, sure. But then...the smile disappeared when he realized that he had an image of _her_ in his head the entire time. The two women looked nothing alike, yet it was Vera Claythorne he had seen. Perhaps he _had _said it after all...unconsciously...

"Damn you, Freud," grumbled Lombard. Sigmund Freud was more of a genius than he had given him credit for.

* * *

Mrs. Claythorne smiled as she arranged the presents beneath the earlier set-up Christmas tree in the living room. She was strongly reminded of the days when her daughters would beg to stay up just a few more minutes but would be sent up to bed while she and her husband played the role of Santa's helpers, and the look of glee on their faces the next morning when they opened up their gifts from Santa.

"Those were the days, all right," she softly murmured. "Back when my girls hadn't a care or worry in the world. Back when Vera was _happy."_

There was a knock on the door. Surprised, Mrs. Claythorne stood up. "Fred's not supposed to arrive until tomorrow," she mused to herself. She ran to the door and opened it up...only to be surprised by the visitor in the doorway.

"Hugo," gasped Mrs. Claythorne, shocked to see the man whom her daughter cared deeply about.

"Where's Vera?" asked Hugo worriedly.

"Why do you want to know?" asked Mrs. Claythorne suspiciously. Hugo appeared to have changed a bit physically since she last saw him—he had a bit of stubble and he no longer kept his hair as neat as he once did. Yet his humble eyes said he was indeed the same Hugo Hamilton from four years ago.

"Because I know about what happened," said Hugo in a hushed voice. "I know about the baby...and how it came to be."

"You do, do you," said Mrs. Claythorne, still cautious to let Hugo in.

"Yes, I heard through the grape vine," said Hugo. He cleared his throat. "Anyway...a long time ago, Vera sent me her address of where she lives now. I dug it up, and I came by to see if she's okay."

"She's _sleeping,"_ said Mrs. Claythorne patiently. "Why don't you come by tomorrow, during Christmas dinner? It would be a most delightful surprise to her, I am sure."

"I am sure, too," said Hugo awkwardly.

"But first, where are you staying, young man?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"I came by train," said Hugo. "Impulsively. So I suppose I'll just find somewhere to stay."

"No, come inside," said Mrs. Claythorne, taking him in by the wrist and closing the door behind him. "I'll call Evelyn up right now and ask either her or Richard to come pick you up and you can stay with them for the night, _then_ perhaps come tomorrow for Christmas dinner. I'm sorry, but we don't have a guest room; I sleep on the couch."

"You really don't have to do this," said Hugo, sitting down on the aforemented couch.

"But I must," said Mrs. Claythorne. "You were Vera's first love, after all. I'm sure this would mean a lot to her."

The creaks of springs and a soft voice moaning, "No Mr. Lombard...Mr. Lombard, _no..._" interrupted the conversation.

"Excuse me," said Mrs. Claythorne. She marched over to Vera's bedroom and closed the door behind her, leaving Hugo to sit there in an uncomfortable silence.

Hugo looked around the living room, with its beige walls and white carpets. He craned his neck and looked into the extension that was the kitchen. When he looked straight ahead, the dining room could be seen.

"So this is where she's been living for the past four years," Hugo muttered. He had been cold when he first came in; now, his face grew hot, but for different reasons.

There was more to his visit than just checking in on Vera to make sure she hadn't...killed herself...no, he had come to make a confession to her. He had heard once that rape victims often blamed themselves for what happened, and he couldn't let her do that. He could never let her go through such a hell, even if she had killed his nephew.

No. He wouldn't think of that _now._ Not at Christmas.


	20. Christmas Day

20

**Christmas Day**

Vera felt tired when she woke up the next morning. Even though she usually got excited on Christmas mornings, this morning, she just wanted to go back to sleep. She began to close her eyes...and felt something inside of her swim like a little fish.

_The baby._

Vera opened her eyes and slowly propped herself up. She smoothly ran one hand across her stomach. "Good morning, little one," she said softly. "Did you have a good sleep?"

She stopped rubbing when she realized just what she was doing...she was bonding with the baby. She quickly threw her hands down on the bed and lay back down, waiting for the swims to be over. What had come over her? She couldn't bond with it if she was just going to give it up—why, if she and the baby bonded, she would be unable to go through with giving it up! And she couldn't go soft; she _had_ to do this.

The door was gently pushed open. Vera sat up in her bed once again and noticed her mother walking in. "Oh good, you're up," she said cheerfully. "Happy Christmas, darling."

"Happy Christmas to you, too, mother," said Vera, getting out of bed and slowly standing up. She said, "Mother...I feel something _swimming_ inside me. It almost feels like a little fish. Is it...the baby?"

"What do _you_ think, dear?" asked Mrs. Claythorne, smiling.

"I think it is," said Vera slowly. "I'm _certain_ it is, as a matter of fact."

"Quite normal to feel it move around this stage," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Now about we go open the presents under the tree?"

"Sounds wonderful," said Vera. Christmas usually brought happy times for Vera. This would be the perfect day to take her mind off of everything that had happened the past five months.

* * *

"Again, I am _really_ sorry to be intruding on your Christmas like this," said Hugo apologetically as he sat in the living room next to Evelyn, watching Richard open the presents with Derek.

"I'm telling you, we really don't mind," said Evelyn. "We'd do the same for anyone else."

"Richard seemed to mind just a bit," remarked Hugo.

As if on cue, Richard called out, "Oh, mummy? Would you care to help Derek discover just what's in store for him beneath this package?"

Evelyn sighed and stood up from the couch. She bent down near Derek and helped him open up his next present while Hugo continued to sit on the couch and observed the family dynamics a bit more closely. When he had arrived at the Barclay's last night, Evelyn was the one to greet him at the front door, but she didn't look as though she had been awakened by her mother's earlier phone call explaining the situation; in fact, she looked as though she had been up for quite some time. As Hugo discovered, Evelyn's marriage with Richard was still going strong and they even had a son who was born last year, sweet little Derek.

Hugo and Richard had once been close friends years ago—in fact, Hugo had met Vera indirectly through Richard when he was invited to Richard's wedding with Evelyn. Over the years (especially after Cyril's drowning, which was when Hugo began to withdraw from most social activities), the two men had naturally drifted apart and gone down separate paths. Naturally, Hugo was surprised to see the bright, cheerful man he once knew act grouchy and irritable towards Evelyn last night. The couple had acted as though Hugo staying with them was the issue at hand...yet he always got the feeling there was something else. Something more personal.

And right now, Hugo's suspicions seemed to be proven true: Evelyn and Richard weren't sitting together. They were both with Derek, true, but there was a certain amount of space between them. They were each on separate sides of Derek, each looking down at him, but never once looking up towards each other. And when they got around to opening up their gifts for each other, they were polite; they said thank you, yet they did not smile or allow much expression in their 'thank you's'.

Yes, Hugo would be asking Richard about this after the presents were opened.

* * *

And when Hugo did, he was surprised by Richard's answer: "It's that sister of hers. I assume you know what happened?"

"Yes, that's why I came," said Hugo slowly, his eyes moving over to Evelyn seating Derek in his high chair in the dining room. They moved back to Richard's unnerved face.

Richard peered over his shoulder. He took Hugo by the hand a bit past the archway. He said, "First of all, I know I'm probably going to sound harsh in what I say, but please, try to see it from my point of view. Ever since Evelyn found out what happened, she began to spend a lot of time over at Vera's house comforting her. I didn't pay too much thought to it at the time, and in fact thought she was being noble in what she was doing."

He sighed, "But when she found out Vera was pregnant, the time she spent with her sister grew. It started small, then became worse. I would always be the first to witness a change in Derek—a new step, a new word he had learnt. And she was never there. His teeth had begun to grow, and they caused him quite a bit of pain and discomfort, but she was _never there."_

He shook his head. "It all came to its boiling point a little over three weeks ago. Derek fell and scraped his knee while running around outside and when I tried to mend it, he cried for his mother. He kept screaming, 'I want mummy'. Do you know how much it broke my heart to hear my son say that, and having to tell him his mummy wasn't there? When I tried to get her to see how this—this _obsession_ with keeping Vera company had now dominated her time with Derek, she got mad at me."

His eyes met Hugo's. "I know I sound selfish in saying this," he said quietly. "But I really do think Evelyn needs to stop spending so much time with her sister. She's got her mother; that should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

"Richard," said Hugo softly, "I had no idea." He cleared his throat. "That being said...you never grew up with any siblings, I know. But I did, just like Evelyn. My sister and I, though off by a few years, have always been very close. Our father walked out on us when we were very young, and our mother died a little into our adult years. Even when she was alive, there were times where it felt like she couldn't possibly understand our problems. But we did. We would confide our problems to one another."

Hugo paused before saying, "My sister hasn't always had it easy. When she met Maurice, it was love at first sight. The two were married off at a somewhat young age, no more than nineteen. They were married for only six months when she became pregnant with her first child. She was absolutely _thrilled._ She looked forward to the opportunity to become the wife and mother she always wanted to be. And then..."

Hugo sighed. "Maurice had been plagued by health problems from childhood that continued into adulthood. We knew this, but didn't think it would be too much of a problem. But...it happened when Amelia, my sister, was seven months pregnant. Maurice came down with the consumption. He was badly weakened by the disease, but Amelia refused to believe he could die from it. She stayed by his bedside until his very last breath." His eyes glistened with tears. "When I came into their room, and...saw her standing over his bedside weeping...I knew. All I could do in that moment was just...hug her."

Hugo wiped the tears from his eyes and went on: "As you know, I had a chance of being a rich man for three months. I had been secretly hoping it would be a girl." He smiled. "You can probably imagine me, standing there, waiting outside the bedroom after being strictly forbidden from coming in by the doctors, silently praying to God for a niece, only to hear the cry of a baby followed then by the doctor's exclamation, 'It's a boy!'"

Hugo laughed. "Even though I wasn't really built on it, when I saw the look of happiness in Amelia's eyes as she held her son for the very first time and named him Cyril, I knew then it wasn't the fortune that mattered. The fact that my sister had something in this world to be happy for was what mattered. And so I stayed with her. I gave up my education and stayed behind to help her raise Cyril until..."

Hugo's voice faded out. He then said, "That's all Evelyn is doing. She realizes that Vera is going through a period in her life where it seems as though no one understands her pain, and is doing whatever she can to help her through this rough patch. I understand how you want her to be there for Derek, but try to see where she's coming from. You never grew up with any siblings, so you don't understand. But I do."

Hugo then walked away and into the dining room, hoping he had gotten his point across.

* * *

Lombard had woken up earlier that morning, only to fall back asleep. He felt unusually tired recently. He finally woke up when it was almost noon. He thought only one thing: _Christmas. Oh jolly._

Lombard yawned and slowly sat up in bed. He had no one to celebrate Christmas with, which felt a bit strange. Last year's Christmas had been spent in London, having recovered from another mercenary adventure with Paulson (who was a fine fellow, but no substitute for Morley). And now here he was...all alone.

Without warning, a sudden sharp pain in Lombard's belly seized him up. He collapsed back onto the bed and lay perfectly still, assuming it to just be a torn muscle. It became apparent that this was _not_ a torn muscle when the pain grew worse.

Lombard gritted his teeth and seethed in agony. Deciding he could no longer bear to just lie there and wait for the pain to go away, he rolled out of bed and onto the floor. Staggering, he stood up and, with great difficulty, walked out his room, down the hall, and to the phone on the end table. He picked it up and began to dial the first number that came to mind.

After what felt like an endless eternity of dials, he heard a voice say, "Hello?"

"Morley," seethed Lombard. "Help me."


	21. Christmas Dinner

21

**Christmas Dinner**

Lombard adjusted the pillows in the guest room (which would very soon become the upcoming baby's room) and propped himself up. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong, but advised him to take it easy. Lombard had begged Morley to stay at his house and, although it took a bit of convincing on Jennifer's part, Morley managed to set up the guest room for Lombard on the condition that he stay there the entire night.

And so Lombard was lying in bed, the pain having gone down quite a bit after a nice, long nap he had just woken up from, wondering what had been the cause of it in the first place. Had it been something he had eaten the night before? He couldn't recall eating anything last night that would upset his stomach. Or was he coming down with something? But no, the doctor had _said_ nothing appeared to be wrong.

The door slowly creaked open and in came Morley with a tray and a bowl of chicken soup on it. "Jen had enough mercy to suggest we make you this," said Morley, gently laying the tray down on the bed. "Dinner for us will begin in half an hour, but Jen _still_ doesn't want you downstairs. I tried to tell her, 'innocent until proven guilty,' but she insisted."

Hearing this made Lombard feel like an ass for the way he had yelled at Morley that day nearly a month ago. "I'm sorry, mate," muttered Lombard, lowering his eyes. "I don't know what came over me that day. I guess it's just...the stress of the whole situation. But you know," he looked up. "Perhaps you _were_ right. Going on and on about how I'm innocent and she's guilty only makes me look like a raving lunatic. I think it would be wise if I kept my mouth shut from now on and just hope for the truth to come out one day."

"All's forgiven, Phil," said Morley with a wave of his hand. "Laying low probably _would_ be the best thing to do for now."

He sighed, "And I would just like to say I'm sorry for doubting you. It's just that I hear things from you, and then things from other people, and I honestly don't know _what_ to believe since neither one of you can give me a straight answer. I really do want to believe in your innocence; I've known you for almost as long as I can remember. Now, I _would_ appreciate it if you just told me straight out what happened, but if the subject really upsets you so much you feel the need to dance around it, then I won't ask. I'll just wait until the trial before making any judgments."

Lombard smiled. He couldn't be _too_ angry at Morley if he really was trying to reach _some_ sort of conclusion about his innocence. He briefly contemplated telling Morley about the incident with the prostitute last night, but just as quickly dismissed it, lest it lead Morley to believe he was _guilty._ "Happy Christmas, mate," he said.

Morley smiled back. "Happy Christmas."

* * *

Vera sat down on a chair in her bedroom by a window, kept open to air out the smells from the kitchen threatening to overwhelm her. She was wearing a red, knee-length maternity dress with a white lace collar that had been sewn by her mother and given to her as a Christmas present that morning. Complimenting the dress were a pair of white stockings and black patent shoes (according to Fleta over the phone, they were called 'Mary Janes' in America). To further affirm the formality, Vera had tied her hair back into a ponytail. Although she herself didn't see much use in dressing up all fancy-like, her mother insisted as Evelyn and her family would be coming over for dinner after all.

Vera flinched when her resting elbow accidentally brushed over the scars. She gently rolled up the sleeve and took a look at the scars from last month when she had that nervous breakdown. They were ugly all right, but not as ugly as they had been last month. They had healed considerably, yet were not completely healed just yet. She gently ran one thumb over each of them. If she pressed too deeply, touching upon the scars hurt, but if she pressed lightly enough, they didn't hurt so much. It would still be some time before they healed completely—if ever—but they seemed to be on their way. She rolled her sleeve back up, deciding not to pay attention to her scars for the time being.

There was a faint knock that caused her to look up. She heard her mother call out, "I'll get it!" Nonetheless, Vera stood up and walked over to the full-length mirror and gave herself one final look-over. The woman in the mirror was slowly becoming more identifiable. She didn't look _too_ much like a whore and actually half-resembled Vera somewhat. She actually looked...nice.

She heard the door opening, which was then followed by her mother's cheerful voice: "Why, _hello_ Evelyn! I'm so glad you could come! I hope having dinner over here isn't too much of an inconvenience for you?"

Evelyn's voice replied, "Of course not, mother! If it makes Vera happy, then we're happy, right Richard?"

And Richard grumbled, "Right."

Vera recalled Evelyn telling her at one point she and Richard were having some sort of fight. Over what, Evelyn kept mum about, though Vera strongly suspected it had something to do with her. Even so, Vera knew better than to ask about it. She hoped that whatever Evelyn and Richard had been fighting about, they put their feelings behind it for the holidays.

Vera turned at the light knock on her bedroom door. Her mother stood in the doorway. The smile on her face paired together with her gentle curls and long, white dress made her look like an angel. "Evelyn and Richard are here," she said. "Along with Derek."

"Oh good," said Vera. Then, because she felt the need to know, "Are Richard's parents coming?"

"No," sighed Mrs. Claythorne. "They already came at Evelyn's house before leaving; Richard told them not to come for dinner in case they accidentally said something...offensive...you know how they are." She muttered under her breath, "Thank goodness."

Vera felt somewhat relieved. She and Richard's parents, especially his mother, were never really on the best of terms. Facing them now in her condition would be awkward to say the least.

"Dinner won't be ready for another ten minutes," Mrs. Claythorne went on. "So why don't you come out and talk with Evelyn for a few minutes? I'll keep all the windows open."

"I don't see why not," shrugged Vera. She saw no harm in having a simple, friendly chat with her sister.

She walked out of her room and down the hall, where she saw a smiling Evelyn, her hair held off her face by a black ribbon. Vera was glad to see Evelyn liked the dress she had given her; a lavender gingham dress that went down to her knees. Smiling, Vera wrapped her arms around Evelyn and gave her a small hug before separating. "Happy Christmas, Evelyn," she said.

Evelyn stretched out her arms, but Vera shook her head. Evelyn instead shook Vera's hand and said, "Happy Christmas, Vera."

Vera noticed Richard was holding Derek in his arms. She smiled at Derek and said, "And how's my little nephew doing this Christmas?"

"Derek _loves_ his presents," cooed Evelyn. "Don't you Derek?" She tickled Derek under his chin and he laughed.

Vera couldn't get rid of the underlying feeling that Richard was cold towards her. She slowly backed up and said, "It's so good to have you all here for Christ—"

She stopped when she saw an all-too familiar face meet her eyes. The man walked in through the front door and said, "Hello, Vera."

"Hugo," whispered Vera, trembling.

_Hugo._

Shocked, she took a step back. Then, before Hugo could say anything, she whipped around and ran straight to the bathroom where she slammed the door shut and leaned over the toilet, feeling ready to vomit.

_He's back,_ realized Vera. _After thinking he was gone from my life for good...Hugo's back. And—oh God, he knows, he knows! Does he know how the baby came to be? What will he say?_

Vera took a few deep, shaky breaths to calm down. She told herself that the Hugo she once knew was a very nice man—a gentleman, in fact—and he would probably be sensitive and not say anything. She briefly wondered if, perhaps, a reconciliation would be possible...but then realized the thought of any sort of relationship with another man right now brought on a headache.

Her stomach finally calmed down and she stood back up. She gave her head a little toss and walked out of the bathroom with as dignified a posture she could conjure up. She saw Hugo standing next to Evelyn and smiled, blushing. "Sorry," she apologized. "It's just...I haven't seen you in so long, and...here you are."

"I understand," said Hugo, stepping forward. He cleared his throat. "So...how have you been?"

_Well, let's see: Since I last saw you, I have had my virginity viciously stolen from me, and now I'm pregnant because of it and I plan on giving up my very first child for adoption. How do you think I've been? Fine and dandy?_

"Well, I'm pregnant," said Vera awkwardly.

"I see," nodded Hugo. Then, "Are you comfortable being alone with other men?"

_You know. My God, you know!_

Vera shook her head violently.

"Then, I suppose we'll have to talk here," said Hugo.

"We're not intruding on you, are we?" spoke up Evelyn. "How about we just go sit on the couch? That's not far from here. Would that be all right by you, Vera?"

Vera nodded. As Evelyn had said, it wasn't very far and was within distance of Hugo and Vera; if Hugo were to try anything, Evelyn would jump in.

Once Evelyn and her husband and son were seated, happily conversing amongst themselves, Hugo said quietly, "I heard about what happened through the grape vine. How...the baby came to be."

Vera's stomach lurched forward.

"I'm really sorry," Hugo went on. "I can't imagine how horrible it must be for you."

_You're right, Hugo. You really can't._

"Well, thank you for your sympathies," muttered Vera, her eyes avoiding contact with Hugo's.

"You're welcome," said Hugo. "I just came by to make sure you're all right."

"Do you _think_ I'm all right?" said Vera icily, crossing her arms. Then, "I suppose, then, that you also heard what happened last month?"

"Yes," nodded Hugo. "I hear different accounts from most people, but I get the gist of what happened."

"Oh," said Vera, her face flushing hot.

Hugo went on: "I also heard that lady whose cat you were supposed to sit for, Mrs. Ashcroft, felt deeply ashamed when she heard about what happened. She apparently thought that man was your childhood friend?"

"Oh, yes," said Vera awkwardly. She remembered Evelyn telling her that when Mrs. Ashcroft tried to apologize to her mother, she nearly got her head bitten off. Vera couldn't recall the last time she had seen her mother get _that_ angry, but she could tell from Evelyn's account it was not the least bit pretty.

She was startled by the sound of her mother clapping her hands and saying, "All right, everyone, dinner's ready!"

Vera marched right past Hugo and took her place at the table, hoping things would stay peaceful for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Why, this is absolutely delicious, mother!"

"Thank you very much, Evelyn!"

Dinner was indeed every bit as delicious as Evelyn praised it to be, though there wasn't much socializing around the table. Vera sat in between her mother and her sister, avoiding eye contact with Hugo as best she could. The whole thing was embarrassing enough as it was without having to talk to Hugo about it.

"Baby," said Derek, pointing to Vera's stomach.

"Yes, Derek, that is a baby," said Richard calmly, holding his son in his lap. "Don't bother Auntie Vera."

"Fee-wa," repeated Derek.

There was another knock on the door. "Goodness, who could that be?" asked Mrs. Claythorne, standing up.

As she went to get the door, Evelyn said, "So Hugo, how have you been doing these past four years?"

"Fine, I suppose," sighed Hugo. "My sister's doing okay, too, considering..."

Vera pushed her chicken aside, not feeling too hungry all of a sudden. Her loss of appetite was only confirmed when she looked up and saw the visitor standing in the doorway.

"Sorry I'm late," apologized her father, taking off his coat and hanging it up. "It's an absolute _blizzard_ out there." His eyes shifted over to the dinner table, meeting Vera's eyes, identical to his.

Vera averted her eyes over to the remaining food left on her plate. _Now you show up, _she thought bitterly. She had a feeling this evening wouldn't be quite as peaceful as she had hoped.


	22. Boiling Point

22

**Boiling Point**

Although Mr. Claythorne had joined a bit late, he still managed to grab himself a plate and take a seat with his family. He tried striking up a conversation around the table by discussing how the economy was slowly pulling itself back on its feet, but Vera was the only one to not join in the conversation. Instead, she sat there, stewing over her father's nerve to come for Christmas and try to act as though nothing happened, not even bothering to say so much as a 'hello'. How _dare_ he.

"It's good to see you again, Hugo," said Mr. Claythorne, changing the subject when Vera said nothing after about five minutes. "How have you been?"

"I'm doing okay," replied Hugo uncomfortably. "I heard what happened and I came by to make sure Vera was okay."

"That's very noble of you, young man," said Mr. Claythorne diplomatically. "You would make a terrific husband."

_Especially to me,_ Vera thought.

"Actually," said Hugo, "there is this girl at work...she and I aren't in any sort of romantic relationship, but she is rather nice."

Vera's fingers curled under her knife. So this was the real reason Hugo had come...not to offer his sympathies as he had claimed, but to inform Vera he had found someone _better_ than her. Someone who was prettier, smarter, and overall less _pathetic._

"Would I happen to know her?" asked Mr. Claythorne.

"Ah, no," said Hugo. "I live up in Scotland now. The girl was born in Hastings, but her family has been living up in Scotland for the past few years. But I repeat, there is no romantic relationship between—"

Vera stabbed her knife into the meat. "So that's why you came," she spat. "You came to let us all know of your _precious_ new girlfriend, someone who's somehow _better _than me, correct?"

"Vera," said Hugo slowly, "we're not in any sort of relationship at all."

"Then why do you keep on talking about her as though she's the most _precious_ thing in the world?" snapped Vera. "If you love her so much, why don't you just _marry_ her and invite _me _to be the bridesmaid?"

"Vera, what's come over you?" asked Mrs. Claythorne, surprised.

"Nothing," snapped Vera. "I'm _fine,_ can't you see that?"

"Don't talk to your mother in that tone of voice, young lady," said Mr. Claythorne sternly, standing up.

"Oh, _now_ you start playing the fatherly role!" laughed Vera, standing up as well. _"Now_ you choose to step in and be involved with my horrible _mess_ of a life! Where were you these past few months, hmm? Were you at home, denying ever knowing your _slut_ for a daughter?"

"Now look here, young lady," said Mr. Claythorne at the same time Hugo shot up out of his seat and said, "I see this is a conflict between the family and the family alone, so I'll just leave."

But Vera grabbed Hugo by the arm and growled, _"You._ How _dare_ you leave me, and then come back only to rub in my face that I just wasn't good enough for you. Everything I did, I did it for you, but you never once appreciated that, did you?"

She let out an insane laugh. "Oh no! You just _had_ to leave me, even when you said you _loved_ me! I guess that didn't mean _anything_ to you, hmm?"

Vera slowly picked up the knife off her dinner plate and said coldly, "I'll make sure you're_ never_ able to break another woman's heart _ever _again."

Whether she was actually going to use the knife, or was just holding it to make a point was unknown, for Evelyn quickly pulled the knife out of Vera's hands and slammed it down on the plate. She grabbed Vera by the wrists, spun her around to face her, and said, "Vera, what's gotten into you? You're not like this. It's almost like you're a...different person."

"Oh, but I _am_ a different person, _Evelyn Marie,"_ said Vera in a dangerously calm voice, yanking her wrists out of Evelyn's grasp. "I'm no longer the saint everyone once saw me as. No...I'm just a dirty _tramp._ A whore, a slut, however you prefer to call it, I'm nothing more than a pretty little object for men to treat as they please."

"Vera," said her mother calmly, walking over to her daughter's side, but Vera went on: "You only _act_ as though you feel sorry for me, but I know what you're _really_ thinking. You're all thinking, 'that foolish little slut, how stupid of her to show up at his room wearing almost nothing'. You only _pretend_ to feel sorry for me to spare my feelings, but I know what you _really_ think! Don't deny it!"

"Vera," said her father, stunned. "I can assure you we most certainly do _not_ think that of you."

"Liar," said Vera angrily. "You're all _liars!"_

Derek, confused and upset by all this commotion, began to cry.

"Now look what you've started," said Richard crossly, not making it clear if he was aiming the message at Vera or Evelyn. He scooped Derek up in his arms and said, "Ssh, it's okay Derek, it's okay. We'll go to the car and wait for mummy."

Trembling with anger, Vera bitterly thought, _There's your son, Evelyn. There's your PRECIOUS baby boy, the one you didn't have to get violated to have! At least Derek is from love and not r...not ra...not ra..._

_I...was...raped._

"I was raped," said Vera quietly once Richard was gone. She cried out, "I was _raped!_" She let out a strangled sob and buried her face in her hands, the tears that had been held back, or otherwise shed in secret, finally pouring out.

"Vera, I think you need to calm down," said Evelyn calmly.

"Don't tell _me_ to calm down!" cried Vera, turning to the sound of Evelyn's voice, blinded by tears. "Not after what _I've_ been through! You don't know what it's like, _none_ of you know _anything_ about what this is really like for me! You don't know what it's like to lose your virginity, a moment you hoped to be one of the best moments of your life, through _rape._ You don't know what it's like to be pregnant from rape when you wanted your very first child to be from love, or to give that child up for adoption, never knowing what's going to happen to it. So don't _try_ to understand because you don't know."

She turned around and felt tears scald her cheeks. She heard her mother say, "Honey, we _want_ to help you, we really do."

Vera began to march off to her bedroom. She heard a pair of footsteps, and a hand lightly touching her shoulder saying, "Vera..."

_A pair of hands all over her shoulders, slipping off her bra, exposing herself to him..._

Vera spun around and gave Hugo a good hard smack across the face, shrieking, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" With that, she thrust the door open and slammed it shut behind her. She got changed into her nightgown as fast as she could without having to look at her own body. When she was changed, she nearly collapsed into bed and sobbed hysterically, thinking over and over, _I was raped, I was raped, I was raped._

"Will this nightmare _ever_ end?" sobbed Vera, wishing badly to lose consciousness, barely aware of the soft punches in her stomach.

* * *

Sure enough, her wish was indeed granted. After countless minutes of sobbing, she had finally fallen into a dreamless sleep. She was only aware she had been sleeping when she opened her eyes to see the door to her room slowly opening. In came her father, who took a chair next to the bed.

"Father?" asked Vera groggily, wondering what time it was.

"I've been here all night," said Mr. Claythorne calmly. "As I should have been all this time." He sighed, "I suppose I owe you an explanation. First off, I just want you to know that I have never once been ashamed of you. You may think I'm lying, but I'm not. Your mother and I may show our emotions in different ways, but what we feel is the same—the heartache."

Vera saw the sad look in her father's eyes and knew then he was telling the truth. "You'll understand this better when you're a parent yourself someday under...more cheerful circumstances," Mr. Claythorne went on, "but there is only one thing a parent hates the most, and that is to see their child suffer and be unable to reach out to them no matter how hard they try. From what your mother tells me, she and Evelyn both _have_ tried to reach out to you, but they feel they must walk around on eggshells nowadays. They don't know what to say without upsetting you...and for that matter, neither do I. Which was the reason I didn't stay."

Mr. Claythorne took a deep breath before going on: "Having grown up with me, you know what my attitude is towards women who become pregnant out of wedlock—but you don't know what my attitude is towards the ones who became pregnant from rape. Naturally, it's a very sensitive topic, and I saw no need to discuss it in our household, because I never imagined it would be an issue _we_ would have to deal with. And...now it is, so I'll tell you that such women should be approached with compassion, not disgust. What happened wasn't even their _choice._ It certainly was not yours."

Vera felt a twinge of relief that her father wasn't as judgmental towards those kind of women. Still, she didn't entirely understand why he couldn't make the time to comfort her beyond how he had reacted at the station...and at the hospital...and then vanishing all together...

"Your mother insisted I stay home," said Mr. Claythorne. "She insisted someone had to stay behind to look after the house, and so I did. As you know, I called every day to make sure you were all right. And then...then came the day your mother called to tell me you were pregnant."

Vera's hands unconsciously moved to her stomach.

"I don't think I can ever get you to understand the shock and devastation I felt in that moment," said Mr. Claythorne softly. "I only wanted what's best for you. I never wanted _this._ And yet...all that I said about how I wanted you and Evelyn to wait until your wedding night came back to me. I know this wasn't your choice, I know you _wanted_ to wait. But I didn't know _what_ to say. There was so much I wanted to say just to assure you everything would be all right, but I didn't know _how_ to go about saying it."

"And that's why you never called?" said Vera softly.

"Actually, Vera," said her mother, who came into the room at that moment, looking as though she had been standing outside the entire time. "It's _my_ fault your father seldom called. I told him not to call us anymore because I knew what his attitude was towards this sort of thing. I worried he would end up saying something that would upset you, so I told him that from now on, I would call him in private once a week to tell him how you were doing."

"And you never let him talk to me," said Vera coldly. "You allowed me to believe my own father had turned his back on me."

"Now Vera," Mrs. Claythorne began, but Vera cut her off: "I thought he was _ashamed_ of me. I thought he was _choosing_ not to call us because he knew it was _my_ fault. How could you just keep him from calling, mother? How could you?"

Vera didn't know what it was, but something inside just burst a huge dam within her. All the emotions she had kept bottled up inside for so long seemed to just keep tumbling out after each other.

"Vera, what happened was _not_ your fault," said Mrs. Claythorne calmly.

"Yes, it _was,"_ insisted Vera, feeling tears she had been holding back finally begin to pour down her cheeks. _"I_ came to his room, _I_ knocked on his door and _asked_ to be let in, _I_ was wearing nearly _nothing._ It was all my fault!"

She broke down completely and buried her face in her father's shoulder and wept like she had never wept before in the past five months. She felt her mother's arms gently wrap around her, giving her a much-needed hug. For once, Vera didn't try to fight it off. She needed it. She _really _needed it.

Once Vera was finally able to calm down long enough to speak, she looked up and said, "I brought my _own_ misery upon myself. I shouldn't be blaming _him_ when_ I_ should've known better."

"Vera, it was not your fault," repeated Mrs. Claythorne. "You couldn't have known what would happen. And if that Philip Lombard were a gentleman, he would've led you back to your room and not said a word over it."

"He," said Vera, reaching for a Kleenex, "he was drunk, so it's not like he _really_ knew what he was doing..."

"Then he shouldn't have been drinking," said Mr. Claythorne firmly. "Drink always leads to the devil. Besides which, how much of him do you suppose was _really_ that drunk?"

Vera looked back to what he had said...after...he had sobered up quite a bit at that point, yet appeared to have enjoyed himself immensely. So maybe he _had_ sobered up earlier than she had thought...

"I came because I heard Cyril's voice," said Vera, lightly dabbing at her cheeks and around her nose, feeling snot begin to drip. "I thought—I actually thought he was in his _room._ Stupid, _stupid_ me."

"To be honest, Vera, if I had gone through what you had prior to that moment," said Mrs. Claythorne gently, "I would be hearing voices myself."

Vera crumpled up her Kleenex and tossed it aside. "Thank you for listening," she said in a quivering voice. "But...I _still_ don't feel all right. I _still_ feel dirty." She sighed, "I suppose I'll always feel this way, so I might as well get used to it."

"Vera," said her mother kindly, "would you feel better if I took you to a therapist after the holidays?"

Vera stared at her mother in disbelief. "You want me to tell my problems to some _stranger?"_ she said.

"A _professional_ stranger who can _help_ you," said Mrs. Claythorne gently. "Your father, sister, and I will help you as much as we can, but I get the feeling you have _so_ much more you want to say but don't feel comfortable _saying_ it, am I correct?"

"Well, yes," said Vera slowly, trying to find the right words to get her feelings out, "but how is this person supposed to solve all my problems? They weren't there. They don't know what happened. They can't find a good home for the baby, or put that man behind bars. So how is talking to them supposed to help?"

"Actually," spoke up Mr. Claythorne, "they _can_ help you put him behind bars. With your permission, they can actually testify in court the lengths of the trauma you underwent."

"I think I would be more comfortable with you and the rest of the family doing that," said Vera quietly. "But I _still_ don't see what _good_ it will do if I'm still going to feel this bad."

"You won't always feel this bad, baby," said Mrs. Claythorne, her voice cracking. "Just trust me. Life _will _get better. It may take a while, but it _will _get better." She cleared up her throat and said, "At least give it a try. If you don't like it, you don't ever have to go back. But at least _try."_

There was a knock on the door. "I'll get that," said Mr. Claythorne, standing up. It was now that Vera realized from the bright light shining in the room as Mr. Claythorne walked down the hall that it was in fact morning.

"What time is it?" asked Vera.

"Around eight-thirty," replied Mrs. Claythorne. "Your father and I had been up for some time, but we wanted to wait until you woke up before talking."

"Mother," said Vera, wanting to get another fear out of the way, "why am I such a _failure?_ Why is it that I'm so incapable of taking care of my own problems that I need to go into _therapy?"_

"Now Vera," said Mrs. Claythorne gently, "therapy does _not_ make you a failure. Practically everyone needs therapy at one point or another in their lives. It can make a _tremendous_ difference."

At that moment, Mr. Claythorne came walking back into Vera's bedroom with a solemn look on his face. "Someone is here to see you," he said.

Vera firs thought it was Evelyn, but was surprised to instead see Hugo come in. He looked almost as afraid of her as she was of him. He sat down in the chair Mr. Claythorne once sat in and said, "I hope you're doing better."

"Somewhat," admitted Vera, red-faced over Hugo seeing her in her nightgown, but not nearly as much over remembering her overreaction last night—she was on the edge of killing him! "I'm sorry how I reacted," she said.

"And I'm sorry as well," said Hugo. "I suppose it wasn't a good time for me to talk about...her." He cleared his throat. "There's another reason I came here. I remember what you said last night, about how you were giving it up for adoption. When I asked Evelyn about it, she confirmed it. And..."

Hugo hesitated before finally saying, "I know it may require a bit of legal work, and it may be something of a lengthy process before we find out if it _is_ possible...but if it is, I will take on the full responsibility and adopt your child myself."

Vera frowned. Was Hugo actually _serious_ in what he said?

"I'm not sure if you really _can_ choose the parents," said Mrs. Claythorne slowly. "I remember you _could_ a couple years ago, but they've changed it now, I'm sure."

"I'm willing to simply have it handed over if needed," shrugged Hugo. "As long as it was okay with Vera, of course. And I would only tell the child what she allowed me to tell."

As the three began to discuss whatever legal proceedings may surround this, Vera's thoughts drifted off. Why would Hugo do that for her? After all _she_ had done? What could she have done to earn this kindness?

"Anyway," said Hugo, standing up, "I must be off. I'll be back in a few weeks and we can discuss the details then. Is January the tenth a good date for you, Vera?"

"Huh? Oh yes," said Vera quickly. "We'll meet here and...talk."

Hugo stood up. "Well," he said slowly, "bye. For now."

"Yes," nodded Vera. "Bye."

Hugo slowly walked out of Vera's room and down the hall to the door. For a moment, he thought about going back to say the words he originally planned on saying...but decided now was not the right time. His confession could wait another day.


	23. The Day After Christmas

23

**The Day After Christmas**

"Thanks once again, Morley," said Lombard as he walked out of the Morley's and onto the snowy streets. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Anytime, Lombard," said Morley with a smile that seemed a bit forced. "Anytime."

Before Lombard took off, he said, "You _will_ be coming to the trail, won't you? As soon as a date is arranged?"

"Oh yes, yes," said Morley, though Lombard could tell from the tone of his voice that a part of Morley didn't want to come. Deciding that pointing out on this wasn't worth it, Lombard said, "Well, goodbye, Morley."

"Goodbye Lombard," said Morley politely before closing the door.

Lombard smiled and took a walk down the sidewalk, kicking a bit of the fresh snow as he walked by. There was something both merry and tragic about the day after Christmas. The happy memories created from yesterday remained in one's mind, as well as the bittersweet knowledge that a day like this would have to be waited for another entire year.

Perhaps the memories Lombard had created yesterday weren't all _that_ merry, but he found the second half of the day at Morley's overcame his rough start in the morning. Yet he couldn't help but continue to wonder _what_ had been wrong with him yesterday. He had out ruled illness and food poisoning...maybe it was stress? Yes, perhaps the thought of the upcoming trial was getting to him at last.

Lombard walked a bit faster, trying to remember which lane led to home.

* * *

When Lombard came home, he was surprised to see his own mother sitting in a chair in the dining room as though waiting for him. He stiffly said, "Hello, mother. How long have you been here?"

"Since Morley called me last night," replied Carolina coolly. "He thought it might be a good idea if I stayed here to keep an eye on you in case you fell ill again. I hope you're feeling better?"

"Yes," nodded Lombard, sitting in a chair across from his mother. "I am."

Lombard was not quite sure what to say to his mother; the last time they had spoken had not gone well. Did she still think he was guilty? Or did she finally see the truth after having some time to think it over?

"I did not come to find out if you are innocent or guilty," said Carolina calmly. "I came to keep my son company after finding out he was sick."

"How nice of you, mother," said Lombard calmly.

"That being said," said Carolina, "there is another thing I would like to say to you, about that poor girl."

Lombard placed his hands in his lap, both of which slowly balled up into fists. _That poor girl..._how sick he was growing of that phrase already. As if it wasn't bad enough to hear it come from gossipers!

"I understand why you would feel angry," Carolina went on. "You feel she has wrongly accused you. Now I am not going to accuse you of anything, but I _would_ like for you to listen to what I have to say."

Lombard decided to say nothing. He would let his mother say what she wanted to say, reply with, "I'll take that in mind, mother," and be done with it. The less he protested, the more his innocence would slowly begin to come to light, hopefully.

"I do not know this Vera Claythorne girl personally," Carolina began, "but from what I've heard of her, she is a very troubled young woman. You know just as well as she does how traumatic that weekend truly was. It has left a lasting impression in your mind that may take years to go away, am I correct?"

Lombard nodded.

"That...is what it is like for her. Even if you did not _actually_ rape her as you say, she was so traumatized she at least _believes_ she was raped. Without intending to, you inflicted scars onto her that may never go away. And to make things worse, she's pregnant with a baby she's not sure if she really _wants_. That's terrifying for _any_ woman to face. She wants to put that night behind her, but now she has a baby to remind her of it. She doesn't know if the decision she makes is the 'right' decision or not."

Carolina sighed, "At least she has it easier than I did. My family didn't even _want_ me around. From what I hear, her family is very supportive of her. I thank God she doesn't have to go through living on the streets, or prostitution. But I sincerely hope things _do_ eventually look up for her."

Lombard couldn't help but let out, "So what do you want me to do?"

"Philip," said Carolina calmly, "if you ever hear that poor girl," (Lombard dug his fingernails into his palms, a habit he had become fond of doing recently), "crying, I want you to stop and _listen,_ really _listen._ Listen to her sobs. Don't try to comfort her, but just _listen._ Please do it for me."

Lombard was tempted to try to argue for his side yet again, but knew it was no use at this point; his mother would continue to feel sorry for Vera—otherwise known as "that poor girl"—until his innocence was proven. He would bite his tongue for now, and wait for the truth to come out. He put on a tight smile and said, "I'll keep that in mind, mother."

* * *

"How long do you think you'll be staying, father?" asked Evelyn as she helped her father get unpacked in the guest room.

"As long as your sister needs me," replied Mr. Claythorne. Then, "I hope I'm not chasing poor Hugo out of house and home?"

"Of course not, sir," said Hugo quickly. "I'll just stay at the nearest inn. That girl I told you about said she was willing to take care of the place for me while I was gone."

"Once again, thank you for your offer," said Mr. Claythorne, smoothing out the sheets. "This has been a difficult time for all of us."

"I can only imagine," said Hugo in a neutral tone.

"Are you sure you can do this?" asked Evelyn, having been told of Hugo's plan earlier. "I mean, it's noble of you, but..."

"Of course I can," said Hugo with a wave of his hand. "It shouldn't be any more difficult than raising Cyril." He began to turn around and walk out of the room, suitcase in hand, muttering, "It's the least I can do after being the cause of this tragedy."

"Did you say something?" called out Evelyn.

"No, nothing," replied Hugo. He walked straight ahead, wondering when he could ever make his confession.


	24. True Feelings

24

**True Feelings**

1940 came a few days later. It was a year that Lombard and Vera both anticipated and dreaded; Vera would have her first baby but give it up for adoption; Lombard would have his chance to prove his innocence which also came with the risk of losing that chance. 1940 would bring many things their way, but most important of all, it would reveal who was innocent and who was guilty.

* * *

Vera gave her hair one final brush. Tomorrow would be the day she would see the therapist for the first time. And she did not look forward to it in the slightest. For now, though, she was waiting for Hugo to come over so they could talk about the adoption process a bit more.

She was looking forward to _that_ even less.

"It's kind of Hugo to want to do this," remarked her mother, who was standing in the archway of the bathroom. "I think he might still care for you."

"I don't think he does," said Vera, putting her hairbrush away. "Not after what happened with Cyril."

"Oh, but that was a long time ago," said Mrs. Claythorne dismissively. "I'm sure he's gone through all the stages of grief and no longer blames you." She looked at Vera curiously. "Do _you_ still care for him?"

Vera was wondering how to answer that, when there was a knock on the door.

"That must be Hugo," said Mrs. Claythorne, walking off to the door.

_Hugo..._why was it that when she heard _his_ name now, her knees turned to jelly and she had a feeling in her stomach all too alike to her now-gone morning sickness? She couldn't let her feelings for him get in the way of this. She just _couldn't._

"I'm so glad you could come, Hugo," said her mother's voice.

Vera clutched the edges of the sink and leaned over it, her stomach in danger of bringing up her contents.

"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Claythorne," said _his _voice, the voice that made her temporarily lose her breath. "Where is Vera?"

"She's in the bathroom, I'll go get her," said her mother's voice.

Vera closed her eyes and took a few, deep quivering breaths. Soon, she felt better and ready to face Hugo. When she looked up, she saw her mother standing there. "Do you feel all right, dear?" she gently asked.

Vera nodded. "I think I'm ready," she said in a voice that she _tried_ to make sound confident.

She and her mother walked together out of the bathroom and towards the couch, where Hugo was sitting, calmly and patiently waiting for Vera.

"So, are we ready to get down to business?" he asked.

Vera and her mother each sat down in a chair facing the couch. They both nodded.

"As it turns out, an _official_ adoption will be next to impossible," said Hugo. "So the baby will simply be handed over, correct?"

Vera nodded.

"How exactly would we go about doing this?" asked Mrs. Claythorne. "I mean, where would we _meet?_ Would you rather see me in the maternity ward or in Vera's room with the baby?"

"My room," spoke up Vera. "Then we leave less to chance."

"Exactly how much information do you want me to disclose to the baby?" asked Hugo.

"I'm not sure," said Vera slowly. "I'm still contemplating if the baby _should_ know about its father or not. Give me more time."

"Fair enough," shrugged Hugo. Then, "Would you rather I move in a town a couple miles from here so you can visit the baby whenever you like or—"

"No," said Vera firmly, looking up. "I want this baby as far away from its father as possible."

"I live up in Scotland," said Hugo. "Would that be far enough?"

"Perhaps," replied Vera. "As long as you took steps to make sure you can't be tracked down."

"What _kind_ of steps, exactly?" asked Hugo.

"What I'm thinking," said Vera, looking to both her mother and Hugo, "is that we keep this adoption business strictly between us. No one, absolutely _no one_, is to know about this. Gossip has a tendency to get around in this town."

"I've noticed," said Hugo uncomfortably. "All right then, this adoption is just between us." Then, "I have just one more question I want to get cleared up with you: Do you want to choose the name, or should I?"

_The name..._

Vera was barely aware of what happened in the next few minutes; she felt like she was floating, watching herself get up and run out of the house as fast as her pregnant body would let her. She was only aware of where she was when she heard a voice call out, "Vera!"

She stopped and looked around. She was standing on the same bridge she had walked across many times, contemplating throwing herself right off it many times. Now, she felt dazed and confused about what to do. _The name..._God did he have to bring that up? If _she_ chose the name, it would mean she truly had bonded with it...and _that_ couldn't happen...but what if the name he chose wasn't a name she personally liked? Just when she thought discussing the adoption was _easy..._

"Vera," panted Hugo, prompting Vera to slowly turn around and see Hugo running up to her, looking as though he had been following her this whole time. "What's wrong?"

Vera looked into Hugo's eyes. Those sweet, gentle eyes that may or may not understand..."Everything," she croaked out. She walked over to the bridge's stony railing, her eyes momentarily looking down at the thin ice below before moving back up. She drew a shaky breath and said, "Just when I _thought_ my life was _finally_ pulling itself back together after what happened with Cyril, _this_ comes along. Just when I _finally_ get a job and learn how to cope with my guilt on my own, _this_ happens."

She walked along the bridge, her hand brushing against the snow. "First, I go through the weekend from hell," she said. "And then, during such a weekend, I'm _stupid_ enough to get myself _raped._" She stopped walking. Her tears felt cold against the wind. "And then...just when I think the worse of it is over, it turns out I'm going to have a _baby._ A baby whose fate is up to _me."_

She slowly turned around to face Hugo. "And _just_ when I think it can't get any worse," she said, her voice choking up with tears, "it _does._ That man tricks me and _humiliates_ me and—and everyone _knows._ Even you."

"Vera," said Hugo, stepping forward. "I don't think the less of your for it."

"Don't," said Vera sharply, turning away. "Don't be _kind_ to me, not after what I did. I _deserve_ all this."

"Don't say that," said Hugo softly.

"It was my fault, and I deserve _all_ of it," repeated Vera.

"Don't say that!" said Hugo in a sharp tone, racing in front of Vera. "You need to know what _really_ happened. The real reason I came was to tell you this is _not_ your fault."

"Yes it _is,"_ Vera tearfully insisted.

"No, it's _not!"_ Hugo nearly shouted. "It's _mine!"_

Vera frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked. "You weren't there."

"No, I wasn't," admitted Hugo. "But it was because of me that you were."

Still confused, Vera said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Hugo walked over to the bridge's railing, Vera following behind. "I knew all along, Vera," said Hugo quietly. "I knew of what you did when I saw the look in your eyes." He looked up at her; there were no tears in his eyes, yet the look of sadness in them was enough to make one think so. "Do you have any idea of what I _felt_ in that moment, to know that the woman I loved took the life of my own beloved nephew...for me? Or how guilt-ridden I have been for the past five years?"

Hugo gripped the edge of the stone-cold railing. Vera could see his knuckles turning white, the same way hers had many times during her morning sickness stage when grasping the toilet, facing reality. "My sister was in such pain," he said softly. "I wanted so _badly_ to help her, to assure her everything would be all right...then again, you can't really help someone who refuses your help, can you?"

He sighed, "Eventually, I began to drink. It became my way of escaping, of forgetting everything. And yet no matter how hard I tried, I could never put you out of my mind."

There was a long silence. The only sound that could be heard was the wind howling and hissing before settling down. When the wind settled down, Hugo spoke again: "It happened on a cold night in late February or early March of last year—I couldn't put down the precise date if you asked me. But anyway, I had tried to control myself that night, to wean myself off the drink. That night, I suffered a relapse. You see...it was during an Atlantic crossing. It was on a night where it was just me and the judge in the smoking room together. He struck up a conversation about murder, how it was different than most people believed it to be. And...I told him. About us, about Cyril...everything."

Vera couldn't quite take in what Hugo had just said, so he went on: "It was bad enough when I heard the news on the evening radio about how you and...that man...had survived and that judge was the murderer. That alone was enough to make me swear off the drink for life. But then...a couple weeks ago, while I was tending to the inn in the last hour or so before closing, I overheard these two customers talking about a woman who had been raped and impregnated. I paid no attention to it, until I heard your name. Then, I leaned in to listen.

"Now you know what really happened, but according to them, there was apparently some sort of legal battle going on between you and this other survivor. They said you had been raped on the island, and that this man may or may not be the baby's father. I knew in that moment I _had_ to find you, to tell you this is not your fault. It's mine."

Vera looked away from Hugo's eyes, feeling a bit shaky. "No," she said quietly. "You couldn't..."

"Vera, it was _because of me_ that you went to Nigger Island," said Hugo insistently. "And if you hadn't gone, you wouldn't have been raped."

"No," said Vera, shaking her head furiously. "It was me. I—I shouldn't have done what I did. To Cyril, I mean."

"You shouldn't have," said Hugo, coming in a bit closer, but not close enough to frighten Vera. "But that does _not_ mean you deserve this. You don't deserve _any_ of this. And it's because of me you are going through this. That's why..." He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening before saying, "That's why I'm going to take this baby in as my own. I owe it to you. It's the least I can do."

It was all too much...resentment, sorrow, regret, and forgiveness flooded Vera's senses all at once, causing her to cry out: "Oh, Hugo!"

She burst into tears and buried her head in Hugo's shoulder and began sobbing. He was...but he...she still loved him...in spite of his confession, she still...but how...why...it was _his_ fault...and he was doing her a favour...

It was when she felt Hugo's arms begin to pull her in for a hug that she pulled herself away. "Sorry," she apologized. "I'm still..."

"It's all right," said Hugo. "I understand."

Vera said, "Oh Hugo, can you _ever_ forgive me?"

"I'm not sure," said Hugo slowly. "My nephew gave my sister a reason to wake up every morning, Vera. He gave me a purpose. And now he's gone. I'm sorry, but...it will take me a while before..."

"I know," said Vera softly. There was one more issue she needed to clear up: "Hugo...I don't feel ready to discuss names just yet, but there are two names I'd rather you not use, because those names will go to another child I might have in the future...if I ever trust another man again, that is," she added.

"You will," assured Hugo. "What are those names?"

"For a boy, Peter," said Vera. "And for a girl, Christine."

Hugo smiled. "Those are nice names," he said. "I can see why you want to set those ones aside, though."

"Thank you," said Vera, giving Hugo a genuine smile.

They began to walk off together back to the house, each slightly distanced from the other, yet somewhat closer in spirit.


	25. Inner Healing

25

**Inner Healing**

The further Vera got into her pregnancy, the more of a task it became to walk up any stairs. Yet she tried, for she knew she had to get on up to get what needed to be done. Today, she climbed up a type of stairs where she deliberately tried to climb as slow as possible: The stairs leading up to the office of Dr. Bonet.

"We're almost there, sweetie," said Mrs. Claythorne as she walked ahead of Vera.

"Great," muttered Vera, walking a bit more slow.

"Don't worry," said Mrs. Claythorne quickly. "I checked into her, and she is most certainly _not_ one of those therapists who uses those _horrible _treatments. She uses Freud's theory—something about just talking it out?"

"Swell," muttered Vera, taking one more step up the stairs.

"Ah, here we are," said Mrs. Claythorne cheerfully, having arrived at **203: DR. FRANCINE BONET**. She opened up the door and gestured for Vera to come in. Sighing, Vera walked further up the stairs and into the waiting room with her mother. The two women each took a seat.

Because they had arrived ten minutes early, Vera took this time to observe her surroundings. The walls were rather pasty looking, very bland. The carpet was a dull shade of green, matching the seats perfectly. In fact, the waiting room was just that: Dull. She noticed there was no secretary; then again, she had also heard Dr. Bonet ran on a somewhat low budget.

The calm atmosphere was interrupted by the sensation of tiny little punches in Vera's stomach. She gasped, "Mother, I think the baby's kicking!"

"Oh," said Mrs. Claythorne, trying to hide her smile. "It must be excited about _something._ May I feel it?"

"No thank you," said Vera politely, gently rubbing her stomach to get the baby to calm down.

The wooden baseboards seemed to just keep stretching on and on, all across the room, from the chairs to the door to the walls to the other side...

The door pushed open and out came a happy-looking stout woman shaking hands with a taller, thinner woman with red hair tied back in a bun. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bonet," said the stout woman.

"No problem," said the other woman, whom Vera assumed was the doctor. "It's always my pleasure to help."

As the stout woman walked past Vera, the red-haired woman turned towards the two women and smiled. "Hello, I'm Dr. Bonet," she said, stretching out her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Doctor," said Mrs. Claythorne, shaking Dr. Bonet's hand. "I'm Clara Claythorne. We talked over the phone, remember? I've heard so many good things about you."

Dr. Bonet smiled at Vera. "You must be Vera," she said, now stretching the same hand towards Vera. "Pleasure to meet you."

Vera silently shook Dr. Bonet's hand, hoping her mother's assessment on her had been right.

* * *

For the first ten minutes or so, Vera could not bring herself to get her feelings out. After having all this time to prepare to set her feelings straight, her mind had gone blank. The only thing that was going through Vera's mind as she sat in the wooden chair across Dr. Bonet's desk was, _Dr. Bonet seems to be a tad bit disorganized. Pencils and papers everywhere; I can barely read her 'writing', if you could call it that, and not chicken scratches._

"You don't have to worry about me judging you," spoke up Dr. Bonet. Vera noticed how soft and warm her voice sounded. It made her think of a nice, cozy blanket. "Your situation isn't all that uncommon, I am sorry to say."

"I don't know what to say," confessed Vera.

"Just say whatever comes to mind," said Dr. Bonet simply. "It'll all come out from there."

"Well," said Vera slowly, "your desk is very..."

"Cluttered?" laughed Dr. Bonet. "I'm a tad bit disorganized. I really should go through my things and sort it all out."

Deciding to continue taking Dr. Bonet's advice to say whatever else came to mind, Vera said, "I hope my students are doing fine without me."

"Ah," said Dr. Bonet, smiling. "Your mother mentioned something about you being a teacher."

"Well, I'm only a games mistress," said Vera modestly.

"Regardless, teaching is still a perfectly respectful job," said Dr. Bonet. She then joked, "It just doesn't come with perfectly respectful _pay."_

Vera found this joke mildly amusing, but another thought came to mind and she spoke it out loud: "They're such sweet girls. To think, I used to be resentful that I couldn't get a better teaching position at another school. Now, I feel lucky just to have _this,_ given the economy we've been in for the past ten years. Even so, I suppose taking the year off to recover has done me _some_ good."

She finally made eye contact with Dr. Bonet and said, "Gossip has a way of getting around town. I really do hope it doesn't reach the parents of those girls. They used to look up to me. What would they think if they could see me now? What would they think if they saw me _then,_ on that night? But he didn't take _that_ into consideration, did he? No, that Philip Lombard just _had_ to please himself with me and..."

And that was when the dam burst. The words kept tumbling out of Vera's mouth; her feelings on the rape, her pregnancy, and the upcoming trial kept coming out one on top of the other, not necessarily in order, but they kept coming and coming until Vera had nothing left to say.

When she was done, Vera let out a sob and took a tissue to dab at her eyes. She felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but what would Dr. Bonet say? Would she understand? Or would she say, "At least my other patients had the common sense to stay put in their rooms?"

To her great surprise, Dr. Bonet said, "Vera, I assure you what you're feeling is completely normal."

"Really?" asked Vera.

"Really," said Dr. Bonet gently. "Every reaction is different. There is no right or wrong way to feel; you just _feel."_

Vera felt herself relax. She was glad to hear _some_ sort of helpful advice...but there was something else she felt the need to discuss: "There's this man I know. I used to be in love with him—he was my first love, as a matter of fact—but we're no longer together. I have absolutely _no _desire to be in _any_ sort of relationship right now, yet somehow, I think I still have feelings for him." She sighed, "It's all _very_ confusing and I just don't know _how_ to feel."

"If you're not ready for a romantic relationship, then don't rush it," said Dr. Bonet in the same, gentle tone. "Give yourself time; many survivors need it. And trust me, it is perfectly natural to have lingering feelings for your first love long after the relationship is over. You'll eventually find another man more worthy of your affections."

Vera thought she had heard a particular word in the conversation and said, "Dr. Bonet, did you just call me a 'survivor'?"

"Yes, I did," said Dr. Bonet. "Because I believe you _do_ have the inner strength to get past this. Just tell yourself everyday, 'I am not a victim. I am a survivor.' Do it right now."

Vera didn't know how _that_ was supposed to help, but she thought, _Might as well humour her._ She sighed, "I am not a victim, I am a survivor."

"Say it again in a clear voice," encouraged Dr. Bonet. "And sit up straight."

Vera sat up straight in her chair and said in a clearer voice, "I am not a victim, I am a survivor."

To her amazement, the words helped. She still didn't feel _entirely_ self-confident, but she felt slightly better than she had when she walked in.

"How do you feel now?" asked Dr. Bonet.

"Better," said Vera truthfully.

"That's good," said Dr. Bonet, her eyes moving over to the clock on the other side of the wall. "Because our time is almost up."

"It is?" asked Vera, surprised. It felt like barely ten minutes had gone by.

"Yes," said Dr. Bonet. "You used up almost the entire hour discussing how you felt about what had happened."

"I'm sorry," apologized Vera.

"Don't apologize," said Dr. Bonet. "You needed to get your feelings out of your system because they were bottled up inside for so long. Would you like to schedule another appointment?"

"Oh yes!" nodded Vera. "Thank you, Dr. Bonet. This has helped a _lot."_

"You're welcome," said Dr. Bonet. "I'm always happy to help. In the mean time, how does next Monday sound to you?"

* * *

Mrs. Claythorne flipped through the various pages of the magazine she was reading before looking up at the clock. It had been just about one hour. She hoped this visit had done Vera _some_ good.

She closed her magazine when the door opened. Out came a smiling Vera shaking Dr. Bonet's hand. "Thank you once again," she said.

"You're very welcome, Miss Claythorne," said Dr. Bonet.

Mrs. Claythorne stood up and said, "So did it go well?"

"Oh yes," nodded Vera fervently. "I'll be coming back next Monday."

"How wonderful," said Mrs. Claythorne. She shook Dr. Bonet's hand and said, "I'm glad to see it went well."

"Oh, it did," said Dr. Bonet.

"Until next week, is there anything I can do to help?" said Mrs. Claythorne quietly.

"Just be kind and supportive," said Dr. Bonet. "If she needs to talk, listen. If she just wants company, give her company. But don't try to _force_ her to talk. When she wants to talk, she'll talk."

Mrs. Claythorne smiled. "Well, see you next week."

As the two women took off, Mrs. Claythorne thought bitterly, _Why is it that you can reach out to her with no difficulty, but when I try to reach out to her it's like pushing against a brick wall? I'm her mother. Not you._


	26. Ides of March

26

**Ides of March**

February was uneventful for both Lombard and Vera, aside from their own personal adjustments to the upcoming trial whose date they had yet to know of. Lombard was lying low and learning to bite his tongue whenever he heard people beginning to take Vera's side of the argument, telling himself the truth would eventually come out; unfortunately, this did nothing to stop the unnatural desires he felt. Vera was gradually recovering bit by bit through her counselling. She was beginning to realize what happened was not her fault and that if _she_ felt all right with this decision, then she _was_ making the right decision.

* * *

Vera's birthday fell on the ides of March. Her birthday was normally a day for happiness and celebration. This particular year, however, the atmosphere was far more sombre than usual.

"I'm glad to see you like the chocolate cake," said Evelyn, cutting up a slice for herself. "I had a hunch you would crave it."

"Thank you for being so considerate, Evelyn," said Vera, using a napkin to wipe some of the crumbs off the edge of her lips.

The family (and Hugo) was seated around the dining table in Evelyn's house, seated at a certain distance from one another.

"Hugo," spoke up her father, "exactly how do you plan on raising a child by yourself?"

"Well," said Hugo slowly, "I won't be _entirely_ by myself. That girl I work with might drop by once in a while. And I _might_ have my sister move up with me...maybe."

The conversation beginning to gain a bit more life, Mrs. Claythorne said, "You know, I think I know someone who lives up in Scotland who just might be able to help you with this child. Well, the _woman _Iknow won't help, but her son might. She has five children, you see; one son and four daughters, all of whom live together by the sea..."

Evelyn squeezed Vera's hand and said, "It's time for us to go."

Remembering what she had recently agreed to do on this day, Vera got up and followed Evelyn out the door, hoping this exercise really would work.

* * *

Lombard thought it was a rather nice day outside...so nice in fact, he felt like taking a short walk through a nearby forest. The sky was gray but not raining, nicely complimenting the deep shade of green in the trees and the chestnut-brown woodchips beneath his shoes.

It was actually a nice place to go, a great place to get away from it all. Here, he had peaceful, pleasant thoughts about life. He imagined himself back with Jennifer while still being great friends with Morley...and at peace with his mother...

Lombard was startled by the sound of footsteps. His hunting instincts told him to run behind the nearest tree, and he did so. He bent down, pressing his face against the rich bark, observing two people coming out of the corner of his eye.

He held back a laugh from the sheer coincidence of it: It was that whore and her crazy sister, walking down the same path Lombard found so peaceful. The whore looked even bigger than the last time he had seen her, almost as though she were carrying _twins..._he shuddered at such a thought.

He paused. He had a choice: He could turn back now without either one of them noticing, or follow them to see where they went and try again at waiting for the sister to leave before...before...well, he didn't know _what_ it was he would do, but he'd figure it out!

Knowing this was beginning to peak obsession, Lombard, like the silent yet sleek panther, stalked the two women, taking care not to be seen or heard. He was thankful for all those years of mercenary work teaching him to be extra careful and to never let the enemy catch on.

"Are you sure about this, Evelyn?" said the voice of the woman set out to ruin his life.

"Dr. Bonet and I talked, and she thought this might be good for you," said the voice of the woman who would most likely kill Lombard if she ever laid eyes on him again.

"I feel a bit silly doing this," admitted the other voice.

Lombard grinned his wolf-like grin and settled in at a spot where he would not be seen, yet could see both women clearly. What were they going to do now? That, he was determined to find out.

"Just go ahead and do it," encouraged her sister. "Just say everything you wrote down."

"All right," said the whore reluctantly. She looked like a doe, alert and anxious of her surroundings...very attractive...

At last, the whore spoke: "I remember reading a story about a girl who had been raped in the paper a few years ago. She had been walking home late one night when she was grabbed by a much larger man, dragged down a dark alley, and she was raped and brutally beaten and left for dead. At the time, I first thought "how terrible it must be for that poor girl". Then I thought, "well, I don't have any jobs requiring me to go out late at night, nor do I go out at night myself, so as long as I keep myself safe, it'll never happen to me". If only I knew...it's one thing when it happens to someone else. And then...it happens to _you. You're_ that girl people read about in the papers."

Lombard shifted himself a bit. This was getting to be rather...interesting.

"Do you remember seeing me?" said Vera, making it clear her message was directed at Lombard. "Do you remember seeing me dancing with Anthony Marston? Remember how he kept trying to kiss me, but I shied away from him? After having my heart broken all those years ago, I wanted to move past what had happened and find another man, to not feel _trapped _anymore, to just...love. I _wanted_ to love again. And yet...I wasn't ready. I _wanted_ to move on, but I wasn't _ready_ to move on. I _know _you were there. Don't deny it, I _know_ you saw me. I could see you smirking across the room. Let me ask you this...if you knew I wasn't ready to be _kissed,_ what made you think I was ready to have _sex?_"

Lombard had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Vera couldn't possibly see him _now, _could she?

Vera took a deep breath and said, her voice shaking, "I wasn't _ready._ I don't care if you felt you _had _to sleep with me, I wasn't _ready._ I'm not like most women who willingly give their virginity away just to get men to like them. I actually wanted to _wait_ until I found someone I really was in love with. I...I did not love you, nor did I say or do anything to _suggest_ I loved you. I had a few conversations with you, sure, but I did not _love_ you."

Her voice was breaking up, but she swallowed and kept on going: "Do you honestly think I _liked_ having a stranger I barely knew undressing me? Did you think I _didn't_ feel embarrassed or _terrified, _even? I honestly thought you were going to kill me when you were done with me. Even though you did not...I have days where I _wish_ you had."

She had to take another swallow before saying, "After the island...after I reported you...I thought it was behind me and that all I had to do now was find a good lawyer and wait for the trial. But you never left me. I saw you every night in my dreams. I _felt_ you on top of me and inside of me. I hear myself trying to get you to stop, I _feel_ the terrible pain and then...I wake up. I'm in my room. It's over...physically. But it never left me, mentally. Even when the trial's over and the baby is born and given away, it will never leave me. I'm getting better now, bit by bit. And yet...I don't think it will ever _truly_ leave me."

Vera buried her face in her hands and started sobbing, her sister putting one arm around her. Lombard felt nauseous, yet oddly numb. It was beginning to come back to him now...he had been drunk, but he remembered...he had been lying in bed, wondering how on earth he had gotten himself into this mess and then...there was a knock on the door...

Vera lifted her face from her hands and went on, tears pouring down her face, "I am almost certain I _will_ get past this and find another man. Even so...I'll never be able to have the white wedding I've always dreamed of. I will never be able to honestly say to this man that this is my first time. And as if _that's_ not bad enough...I always wanted to be a mother. After I got over my initial disgust upon finding out where babies come from, I thought the idea of having a little baby to take care of and call my own was wonderful. I wanted my first child to come from a moment of pure _love, _and for this child to actually be _wanted. _Instead..."

Her voice broke up and she took another deep breath. "Instead, it's a child from _rape._ And it's a child I don't _want._ When this baby is born, it is going to a family that _does _want it. I don't want to raise a child that feels it isn't wanted by its own _mother._ Even if I _tried_ to care for it, I'm in absolutely _no _condition to raise a child right now. I can barely take care of _myself, _let alone an innocent baby who doesn't deserve to be brought into the world this way."

She wiped the tears from her eyes. "What would I say if the child asked about its father? Or how would I explain the story behind its conception when it grew older?" She said in a quieter voice, "I wanted to bring a child of _love_ into this world, Mr. Lombard, a child that would feel loved by its parents. Not a child of _rape, _a child that isn't wanted by either of its parents. If abortion didn't go against my morals, I'd do it to spare the child such suffering. But because it goes against everything I believe in, I will see this pregnancy through. And hopefully, this child will be happier with its adoptive parents than it ever could be with me."

Lombard sat absolutely still, waiting for Vera to say something else. He was too stunned to get up and walk away from this. The memories had stopped coming and now, here he was, sitting here feeling...cold.

The sister came up to Vera and gently put one hand on her shoulder. "Feel better?" she said softly.

"Yes," said Vera dully. "It _does_ feel good to get it all out." Then, "Let's go home."

Lombard waited for the two women to leave. Fearing of accidentally running into them, he stayed behind, not sure of _what_ to think.

* * *

Lombard returned home one hour later to crawl into bed and lie down, trying to make sense of what he had heard. He was beginning to remember what his mother had told him: _"Philip, if you ever hear that poor girl crying, I want you to stop and listen, really listen. Listen to her sobs. Don't try to comfort her, but just listen."_

And he had...and he didn't know what to feel. He looked back on Christmas morning, when he had that awful stomach pain. He was beginning to realize what his condition was called: Guilt.

There was a knock on the door, but it sounded too rough to be that of his mother's, or of Morley's. He got up and walked out his room, down the hall, and to the door. He opened it and found two police officers standing in the doorway. One of them said, "Are you Philip Lombard?"

"Yes," said Lombard slowly. "Why?"

The other officer said, "We are here to talk to you about the rape charges pressed against you in August of 1939."

* * *

When Evelyn and Vera came home, two other officers were waiting for Vera in Evelyn's living room for the very same reason. In addition to being given a subpoena, she was informed of the basic trial procedures and given a precise date for the trial: April twenty-ninth.

"So it's not that big a deal, then," said Vera when the officers left. "I'm due on the twenty-fourth of April, and the trial will come five days later. By then, the baby will be born and given up, so we don't have to worry about _that_ little detail."

"Don't count on it, Vera," said her mother warningly. "Women seldom give birth on their _precise_ due date. You were due on the thirteenth of March, and came out two days later."

"True," said Vera, "but maybe this baby can wait after the trial."

"Good luck with that!" chuckled Mr. Claythorne. Then, "So how did your trip down to the forest go?"

"I feel better," said Vera. "Dr. Bonet was right; it _did_ help. It's queer, you know; somehow, it felt as though _he_ was there, actually listening to me." She smiled. "It's a bit absurd, really. How would he _really_ have reacted if he _had_ heard me?"


	27. The Trial Act One

27

**The Trial (Act One)**

Now that there was a precise date for the trial, both Lombard and Vera were given good reason to worry now more than ever. In spite of learning of how his actions had impacted Vera, a guilty part of Lombard kept hoping he would be found innocent for his mother's sake, now that he saw where she had been coming from. Vera's pregnancy was stretching into the last few weeks, giving her more discomfort than ever. Her hormones began to play havoc on her emotions, causing her to act grouchy and irritable, worsening when her thoughts turned to the possibility that her rapist just might be found not guilty. All of a sudden, she couldn't wait for this baby to be born, but she hoped it would be born before the trial.

* * *

Four days after Vera's due date had passed, Vera was still pregnant. Nonetheless, she hoped her black maternity dress at least made her _look_ professional as she stood outside the courtroom with her family and lawyer.

"Are those shoes comfy, dear?" asked Mrs. Claythorne. The shoes Vera had originally planned on wearing in court were now too small for her swollen feet, so her mother went and bought a pair of shoes at the last second.

"Yes," said Vera, anxiously looking around the halls.

"Don't worry," said Mr. James. "Mr. Lombard will be arriving much later, just a few minutes before the trial begins, and we will be inside by then."

Vera rubbed her eyes, feeling the urge to lie down and take a nap. She had woken up at around seven o'clock to prepare herself, and the trial was to begin at ten-thirty. Right now, it was nine o'clock, giving her plenty of time to go over what she had to say one last time.

"Do you feel comfortable having us in court, dear?" said her mother gently. "Or would you rather we wait outside?"

"No, I want you there," said Vera. "It would feel easier to have _someone_ in there not judging me." She winced and rubbed her aching back.

"Is it time?" said Mrs. Claythorne quickly.

"No, not yet," said Vera, shaking her head.

"You've asked that five times already, Clara," said Mr. Claythorne. "Just _relax._ Hugo promised to wait outside in the car in case Vera _does_ go into labour."

Mr. James checked his watch. "We should be let in any minute now," he said.

Evelyn gave Vera a gentle hug, glad to know Vera no longer balked at hugs. "Good luck, sis," she said.

"Thanks," said Vera, giving a wry smile. "I'm going to need it."

Mrs. Claythorne gave Vera's hand a tight squeeze. "No matter how the trial may turn out, just know that your father and I are very proud of you for being able to do this."

* * *

Vera did not know if it was hormones or genuine self-confidence, but re-telling what had happened that night was surprisingly easy. She found that as long as she looked above the sea of faces waiting to judge her, the words came with almost no difficulty. She felt slightly sick when she began to describe the rape, but she found the strength to carry on.

The questioning was slightly more difficult. The first few questions weren't so bad; Mr. Hutchins simply asked her to repeat certain details of the story, which wasn't terribly difficult. Even the questions about the rape itself were mild questions, like how hard Vera had fought, what had caused her go to his room. She answered each question with honesty, thinking this wasn't as bad as Mr. James had warned her.

It was when Mr. Hutchins began to ask about the more embarrassing details she realized what he had been talking about.

"Miss Claythorne," spoke Mr. Hutchins as she paced the courtroom, each step leaving behind a harrowing echo. "You said my client ran his hands "all over" your body. To what extent do you mean by this?"

"What exactly do you mean?" asked Vera, a tad confused.

Mr. Hutchins put it more bluntly: "Which parts of your body did my client allegedly touch?"

It was now that Vera's eyes moved off the wall and into the eyes waiting for an answer. "Mostly the upper-half," she said. "His hands moved to my thighs once or twice, but mainly the upper-half."

"Which _parts_, Miss Claythorne?"

"Well...my arms...my stomach...my, er, shoulders...and..." Her voice faltered.

Being even more blunt, Mr. Hutchins asked, "Did my client put his hands on your breasts, Miss Claythorne?"

Vera's face flushed hot. "Yes," she muttered, avoiding eye contact with Mrs. Bowman, who was sitting right up front.

"I'm sorry, would you please speak up?" asked Mr. Hutchins, cupping one hand to his ear.

"I said yes," said Vera loudly, her eyes moving over to Mr. Hutchins.

"And did you enjoy it?" asked Mr. Hutchins. "Did it trigger any, ah, sensations?"

"Only those of guilt and shame, sir," replied Vera calmly. "So no, I did not enjoy it."

Mr. Hutchins put his hands in his pocket and began to pace the court yet again. "Have you been in any previous sexual relations with anyone else prior to Nigger Island?"

Vera opened her mouth—and felt her seat go wet. And she had a strange feeling it wasn't wet from a weak bladder...

_No! Not now!_

"Miss Claythorne?"

Vera's head jerked up. She said, "Sorry, I don't think I heard the question properly, would you care to repeat?"

_As long as he only has a few more questions left, I should be fine,_ she thought, ignoring the fluid gradually running down her legs.

Mr. Hutchins repeated the question slowly. Vera answered no, she had not. He then asked, "Can you confirm that it was Philip Lombard who impregnated you?"

She was beginning to feel cramps similar to those she felt around her period...only much, much more intense...

"I just said I had no sexual relations prior to the island," said Vera irritably, ignoring the cramps which were gaining gradual strength. "Shouldn't that answer your question?"

"Miss Claythorne," said Mr. Hutchins, his face and voice now sympathetic, "even if this particular event had not occurred, would you still have been traumatized by the whole experience?"

The pain was growing unbearable. Vera quickly nodded with a grimace and clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut, wanting to just _scream._ She barely heard the next question, but she did hear the one after that: "Are you in labour, Miss Claythorne?"

Vera nodded and dug her fingernails into her palms. She was relieved to hear Mr. Hutchins say, "The defence has no more questions, your honour."

Vera opened her eyes when the judge gave her permission to go. She grabbed on to the edge of the podium and began to stand up on her own, but felt another hand sliding into hers. She gave a thankful smile towards the owner of the hand: her sister.

* * *

"We're almost at the hospital, sweetie," said Mrs. Claythorne, sitting one side of Vera while Evelyn sat on the other. Mr. Claythorne was up front giving Hugo directions to the nearest hospital. "Just take deep breaths like this." She demonstrated for Vera, who copied, knowing all too surely she was in for a _long_ day.


	28. A Bittersweet Birth

28

**A Bittersweet Birth**

"Breathe in like this," instructed Mrs. Claythorne to her daughter, who was lying down in a hospital bed, having changed into a hospital gown but wearing her black cardigan after complaining the room was a bit too cold. The rest of the family (and Hugo) was waiting just outside the room.

"I—can't!" gasped Vera, clutching her white sheets in a state of panic, fearing she was going to faint.

"Just relax," said Mrs. Claythorne gently. "The worst of it will be over soon."

Vera finally let out that much needed breath, and her latest contraction ended. She laid her head on the pillow and her eyes closed. She had been in this bed nearly all day since she had arrived at the hospital. Now, it was nine o'clock in the evening and _still_ no baby had come out. As it turned out, however, something in the anaesthesia made her violently ill, leaving her to suffer through the painful contractions.

"I hope this is over soon," Vera murmured.

"It's almost over, dear," said the voice of her mother, gently tucking one strand of sweat-matted hair behind her daughter's ear. "The doctor says it's just another few hours."

Vera opened her eyes and thought she saw her mother blinking back tears. "Mother?" she said. "Are you all right?"

"It feels like only yesterday I was lying in bed giving life to you," said her mother softly. "And now here you are. I just wish you could give birth under cheerier circumstances than this." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Don't cry," said Vera, sitting up. "It wasn't your fault."

"I tried to protect you from _everything,"_ said her mother, continuing to wipe the tears off her face. "But I couldn't protect you from _this."_

"Mother," said Vera, gently pulling her mother in closer by the arm, "you and Evelyn were both a _big_ help for me. I honestly can't imagine where I would be right now if it weren't for either one of you."

Mrs. Claythorne began to smile for the first time in five hours. She pulled Vera in for a gentle embrace. "You've been through _so_ much these past nine months," she whispered. "More than you deserve."

Vera slowly pulled out of the hug when she realized there was one more issue she needed to get cleared up: "Mother...may I please talk to Hugo for a few minutes? You can stay in the bathroom, and I'll call if anything happens, but I doubt it will."

Mrs. Claythorne stood up. "I don't think so, either," she said. She walked over to the door and opened it just a crack. While she was softly calling for Hugo, Vera took the time to really observe her surroundings. The paste-coloured wallpaper had smiling storks carrying a bundle with their beaks. They almost seemed to be winking knowingly at her. Well, the stork certainly hadn't been very kind to her with this one.

Her mother came back in the room and said, "Hugo will be seeing you now." She walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her just as Hugo came through the door. He sat down in the chair next to Vera's bed and said, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm a bit uncomfortable," admitted Vera. Then, "There's something I think we need to clear the air about. It's been lingering around for far too long and I think it is something that needs to get straightened out now: We can never get back together, can we?"

She knew the answer long before Hugo said, "No. I'm sorry, but we can't." He then said in a quieter voice, "After what happened with Cyril...it wouldn't feel right. I still love you. I always will. I could never find it in my heart to hate you...but I'm not _in_ love with you. I care for you...just not romantically. Do you know what I mean by that?"

"I think so," said Vera slowly, realizing she no longer felt a compulsive urge to be by Hugo's side, nor did she long to get back with him any longer. "I just want to thank you for offering to raise the baby, but I'll let you know right now that just as you could never hate me for what I did, I don't hate you for what you did, either. Just don't feel as though you're doing this to me out of debt, okay?"

Hugo gently stroked Vera's hand, letting her know all that needed to be said between them had been said already.

* * *

Two hours later, Vera's hands were clutching something else: Her sheets, for they were all she had to hang on to as her family was not allowed in here while she was giving birth.

"You're doing great, Miss Claythorne!" shouted one of the doctors. "Just keep pushing!"

Vera pushed with all her might before screaming in sheer _agony._ She had been warned of the various discomforts she would face throughout her pregnancy by the doctor, but what he _hadn't_ told her was how _excruciating_ childbirth would be, or how _long_ she would be pushing for. She had lost track of time of how long it had been since she began to push; she supposed it was really about ten minutes, but it felt like ten _hours._

"The head is in sight!" yelled another doctor. "Keep going!"

Vera grunted and pushed, no longer screaming, but still in agony. She gritted her teeth, the events of the past nine months flying through her mind: The rape...going to the police...finding out she was pregnant...getting a lawyer...being trapped and humiliated by Lombard...her breakdown...reaching her decision...Hugo offering to take in the baby...Dr. Bonet...and last but not least, the beginning of the trial.

"Now relax," said another doctor.

Vera obeyed and took the time to catch her breath.

"The baby is almost out, just give one more _big_ push," said the same doctor.

Vera took a deep breath and pushed with all her might, her hands now clutching her knees, leaning her head forward, letting out groans that turned into screams, thinking, _Please God let this be over already._ She barely heard the doctor telling her to stop, but she did. She was leaning forward, catching her breath, trembling all over. And then...she heard it. She heard the sound that temporarily caused her heart to stop beating: A shrill cry. A _baby's_ cry.

_Her baby's cry._

She was almost afraid to look up, but she did anyway, just to see the life that would not be if Lombard had let her go back to her room. At first, she saw nothing but the doctors crouched over her, one of them yelling for the scissors to cut the umbilical cord with. At least, that was what she _assumed_ they were yelling. The doctor's yells came only as background noise. The one sound that had her absolute attention was her child's cry.

Then, one of the doctors gently lifted up a screaming, lop-sided, red-faced infant covered in amniotic fluid, blood, and God only knew what else.

_The baby._

"Congratulations, miss," said the doctor. "You have a daughter."

_A daughter._

"Oh," said Vera, still a bit shaken-up. "Just...just put her in the crib over there."

The doctors had to stay for when she eventually delivered the baby's home in a matter of minutes. Even so, she found their presence at such a precious moment like this a bit unnerving. She wanted now more than ever to have a few minutes alone with the baby. Not to _bond_ with her or anything; just to make sure the baby would be all right when Hugo came to get her.

Her eyes remained on the baby, who was now being cleaned up...wait, were the doctors scrubbing her a little _too_ roughly? Should she speak out on it? Now she was being placed in a pink blanket on standby (the pink blankets were next to the blue)...was she being wrapped _too_ tightly? No, she seemed to be relaxing a bit, but she continued to whimper. Why was she whimpering? What was wrong with her?

Exhausted, Vera lay down on the bed to wait for when it was time to deliver the placenta. It was over. After months of agonizing over what the right decision would be, it was over.

Or had everything just begun?


	29. The Hardest Thing To Do

29

**The Hardest Thing To Do**

Lombard tucked in his undershirt and slipped under the covers in bed. The first day of the trial seemed to be going good...so far. He had successfully tuned himself out when Vera began to tell her side of the story, knowing that she was getting all too good at softening him up; and again when the doctor came in the afternoon to present the physical evidence in court. He wasn't due to tell _his _side of the story until tomorrow afternoon. Until then, he _had_ to block out what he had heard last month out of his mind.

He closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, but was alerted by the sound of the door opening. He sat up in bed and heard footsteps...then relaxed, for these footsteps sounded a lot like Morley's. Morley and Jennifer had a daughter named Karen Amanda two weeks ago, but Lombard already knew about _that._ Had Morley forgotten he already told Lombard the joyful news? The only other possibility that came to mind was...but no, he had told Morley he wanted nothing to do with Vera's baby.

Then again, it would be very much in-character for Morley to ignore such a warning.

The door slowly creaked open and in came Morley with a grin across his face, a box of cigars in one hand. He turned the lights on in Lombard's room and said, "Congratulations, Phil."

"If this is about that blasted baby, Morley, I've told you already I don't want _anything_ to do with it," said Lombard irritably. "It has caused more trouble than it's worth."

"Say what you will, but I say this calls for a celebration," said Morley, pulling one cigar out of the box. "I went to the hospital that Claythorne girl went to and posed as a friend to the receptionist. Visitors are not allowed, but she _did_ manage to tell me that it's a—"

"Don't tell me," said Lombard, raising a hand. "I don't want to know." He sighed upon seeing the dopey look on Morley's face. "But you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you."

"Yes, I am," said Morley, using the other hand to search for a match in his pocket. "You have a daughter, just like me. Isn't this grand?"

Lombard raised his eyebrows. "A daughter, eh?"

"Yes, indeed," said Morley. He put the cigar in Lombard's mouth and struck a match to light it up. Before he could light the cigar, Lombard pulled it out of his mouth and blew out the match and said, "You _do_ realize she's been going around saying it's a child of rape, right?"

"How do you know she's been saying that?" asked Morley. "That's what the _gossipers_ say, yes, but I doubt she'd want it to be a known fact."

"And I also hope you realize that not only is she giving the child up, she would never want _me_ to be involved with the child's life even if she were to keep it," said Lombard, realizing that of the two, _he _was the sensible one.

"You know me, Phil," said Morley, putting the cigar away. _"I_ say a child is a blessing."

"And _I _say you're insane," laughed Lombard.

Morley put the box of cigars in his pocket. "I think we ought to let your mother know. She knows about the baby anyway."

"I'd rather not," said Lombard. "She already looks down on me for it. If we were to tell her, she would go on about "that poor girl" who just gave birth to my child."

"Phil," said Morley gently, placing one hand on his friend's shoulder.

Lombard relaxed. Then, just because he was curious, he said, "Does she have a name?"

A smirk twitched across Morley's face. "To the receptionist's knowledge, no."

"Oh," said Lombard. Then, "Hand me a cigar, Morley. I feel a bit tense. I think I _will _need one after all."

* * *

Vera was no longer sleeping. She had fallen asleep shortly after delivering the placenta hours ago, but she was now awake, yet longing to keep her eyes closed a bit longer. She felt drained—physically and emotionally. Who knew having a baby could take so much out of you?

She heard a soft creak, like the sound of someone leaning forward in a chair. She slowly peeked one eye open and then another before blinking to see her mother sitting in the chair by her bed, holding an infant wrapped up in a pink blanket.

_The baby._

"Mother?" murmured Vera.

"You go back to sleep, dear," said her mother gently.

Vera's eyes moved over to the clock. The last time she had looked at it was right before the doctors came in to help deliver the baby. The time had been just five minutes past eleven. Now, it was a quarter past three.

Vera sat up in bed. "Mother, it's past visiting hours. You and father and Evelyn should be—"

"Your father and Evelyn have gone home," said her mother in the same, gentle voice. "They've had their chance to see the baby."

"And Hugo?" inquired Vera.

"Hugo and I have been hiding in the bathroom for the past few hours," said Mrs. Claythorne. "We're still going through with your plan to take the baby in the middle of the night, but Hugo thought you might want to spend a few minutes with her first." Then, "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," replied Vera. She then asked, "How's the baby?"

Mrs. Claythorne smiled at her sleeping granddaughter's face. "Beautiful," she whispered. "Just _beautiful._" She said quietly, "Ironic isn't it, for such a beautiful baby to be born under such ugly circumstances."

"Has she been named yet?" asked Vera.

"No, not yet," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Hugo wanted to wait for your input. Speaking of which, he is waiting in the bathroom right now. Shall I go get him?"

"Yes," said Vera. She watched her mother get up, baby still in arms, and walk over to the bathroom door. She placed her hands on her stomach, which felt strangely _empty._

Hugo came out of the bathroom and walked over to the bed. Mrs. Claythorne took her seat while Hugo stood on the other side and said, "So, how are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," replied Vera. Then, "You didn't have to wait for me."

"It didn't feel right, to just take off with the baby while you were asleep," said Hugo. "We were just wondering if you would like to hold her for a few minutes."

"I...I'm not sure," said Vera slowly. A part of her _wanted_ to hold the baby, but the other part didn't want to make this anymore difficult than it was.

She looked over at her mother who gently stretched her arms forward. A small sound made its presence. The baby was stirring. The sound was enough to cause a lump to form in Vera's throat. She stretched out her arms and nodded. Her mother gently handed the baby over to Vera, who held her with all her arms' strength. Even though she was afraid to, she looked into the baby's eyes, which were slowly peeking open. They were a light shade of blue that nearly blended into green (then again, all babies had blue eyes at birth), but what made them so stunning was how...innocent...they were. There was no hatred or desire to bring anyone down. There was love, pure innocent love.

"She's so small," was the only say Vera could say without bursting into tears. She held the baby closer. It was now that she realized the baby had a dark set of hair on her head. There seemed to be a good chance the baby just might grow up to resemble her mother. She looked up and said, "May I please have a few minutes alone with her?"

Mrs. Claythorne smiled. "But of course." She and Hugo both made their way into the bathroom, leaving Vera and the baby a few minutes to themselves.

Once she heard the door close, Vera let the tears come, soft and slow. She held her daughter close to her and closed her eyes, softly humming a lullaby. _Please accept Hugo as your father,_ she thought. _Your real father can never know about your soon-to-be departure. And please, accept whoever Hugo chooses to be your mother. She will provide you with the love and care you deserve._

She woke up with a start when she realized she had just about fallen asleep. She looked down on her child's face once more. The baby was now asleep, appearing as a total angel. She looked up at the clock: It had been about ten minutes. It didn't _feel_ like enough; oh, she wanted to spend _hours_ alone with her daughter, but knew Hugo had to leave _soon_ or else the plan would fall apart. She called out softly, as to not wake the baby, "You can come out now."

The bathroom door gently creaked open and out came Hugo and Mrs. Claythorne. Hugo walked up to the bed and said, "Are you ready?"

Vera looked down on the baby's sleeping face once more. Maybe she _could_ make it work after all. Her mother _had_ offered to help; perhaps she could get by with help from her family...

"Are you having second thoughts?" said Mrs. Claythorne gently, standing on the other side.

Vera said slowly, trying not to let her tears choke up her voice, "It's...just..._so_ much harder than I thought."

"Vera," said Hugo gently. "I understand if you want to keep her."

She still had sessions with Dr. Bonet to attend to...she _still_ didn't feel _entirely_ all right...what if she lost the trial and took it out on the baby? Worse, what if her _real_ father came for her...?

"If you feel this is a mistake," Hugo began, but Vera cut him off: "No. This is what's best for her." She gave her sleeping daughter a soft kiss on the forehead and reluctantly handed her over to Hugo.

"Watch the head!" she hissed, alarmed. But Hugo took care to make sure he was holding the baby the proper way. Vera could tell from the careful way he was holding her he just might make a good father.

"Before I leave," said Hugo, "there's just one more thing: The name. Have you thought of anything?"

Vera actually _did_ have a name in mind, a name she had come across a few months ago when discussing various issues with Dr. Bonet. Dr. Bonet came from France and had brought up a particularly nice name for a girl that remained in Vera's mind during the last, long weeks. It was a very popular name in France, but not very popular in most English-speaking countries.

"No," said Vera softly, not wanting to attach herself to this baby any more than she already had. Hugo began to turn around with the baby in arms when Vera changed her mind: "Danielle."

Hugo turned back to Vera, who said, "It means 'God is my judge'. And whatever the outcome of the trial may be, only God can truly be the judge of which one of us is innocent."

"That's a very nice name, Vera," said Mrs. Claythorne politely. "What do you think, Hugo?"

"Danielle," said Hugo softly. "And for a middle name?"

"Elizabeth," replied Vera.

"Elizabeth?" said Mrs. Claythorne, surprised. "Why, that's _your_ middle name, dear."

"I know," said Vera softly. "That's why I want her to have it: So a part of me will always be with her."

"Danielle Elizabeth Hamilton," mused Hugo. "I like that."

Vera looked up at Hugo. "Thank you once again for being so kind to me," she said softly.

"You're very welcome," said Hugo. Then, "You know, I could send you a yearly letter to let you know how Danielle's coming along, if you like."

Mrs. Claythorne's face lit up. "Would you really do that?"

"Then go ahead," said Vera dully. "Do it for my mother." She sighed, "Well...goodbye."

"Goodbye, Vera," said Hugo softly. He gently opened the door with one hand, gave one last fleeting smile to Vera, and then closed it behind him.

Vera wrapped her arms around herself. What had she done? Why hadn't she _said_ something? She wanted to leap out of bed, run down the halls, and snatch Danielle out of Hugo's arms screaming, _"You can't take her!"_ But she didn't. She knew it was best, but it didn't _feel _best. What was wrong with her? She had been fine with this decision weeks before...until she made the mistake of _holding_ that baby and _loving _it.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" said her mother's gentle voice, sitting down in the chair.

Vera shook her head and burst into tears. She buried her face in her mother's shoulder and let the tears come out, not fighting off the arms pulling her in for a much-needed hug.

What else could she do after making the most painful decision of her life?


	30. The Trial Act Two

30

**The Trial (Act Two)**

Lombard straightened up his tie as he stood outside the court with Mr. Hutchins. "Well, today's the day," he muttered.

"Don't worry, you'll do just fine," said Mr. Hutchins assuredly. "Every man deserves a chance to a fair trial."

Lombard pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the sweat pouring down his forehead. "You don't think she was _too _convincing the other day, do you?"

"She seemed rather flustered when I questioned her," said Mr. Hutchins. Then, "Do you, by any chance, know if she had the baby or not?"

Lombard tensed up then relaxed. "Yes," he said dully. "Last night. From what I hear, it's a girl."

"Good," said Mr. Hutchins. "That's all I needed to know. I just need to tweak the argument in your favour a bit."

Lombard checked his watch. It was a quarter to one. "It's almost time," he said. "Shall we head in?"

* * *

Immediately before Lombard agreed to tell "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth", he noticed Vera Claythorne was sitting all the way in the back with her sister. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair appeared to have been hastily brushed and fell loose on her shoulders. Her eyes were facing the ground, which made him feel partially relieved as he began to speak his testimony in court.

Lombard spoke with as much honesty as he could allow. He told simply what he remembered, though he was still a little vague on some details. He remembered Vera asking to be let in, giving her a drink, slowly undressing her, and then being inside her. And she had not objected in the slightest...right?

When Mr. James came up to question Lombard, he started off by asking him to repeat certain details of the story, which he did. It was when Mr. James began to ask about _specific_ details in the story that Lombard realized he should've paid more attention to Vera's testimony yesterday.

"Now Mr. Lombard," said Mr. James, who, instead of pacing the court, simply stood there, folding his arms across his chest, "you have managed to contradict your testimony several times today. Yesterday, Miss Claythorne said the two of you _fell_ on the bed. You said you _lowered her_ on the bed. Care to elaborate?"

"Well," said Lombard slowly, knowing that as much as he didn't want to remember, he would have to at this point, "she was in my arms, and it might have _felt_ like I was lowering her as she was a bit heavy."

"Did you hear her say no when the two of you fell on the bed?"

"Objection, your honour," called out Mr. Hutchins. "That's a leading question."

Mr. James cleared his throat and said, "Did you, at any point during the time Miss Claythorne was in your room, hear her say she did not want to sleep with you?"

"No, I did not," replied Lombard calmly.

"Did you hear her say your name as though trying to get your attention?"

Lombard frowned. He could recall slipping one of her bra straps off her shoulders before slipping the bra off altogether...and a voice calling his name. "I may have heard her once or twice."

"Did you hear her threaten to scream?"

"_Mr. Lombard, I'll—I'll scream!"_

"I may have," said Lombard slowly, getting a funny feeling in his stomach.

"And did you hear her say no?"

The idea of faking illness to be pardoned struck Lombard, but he decided against it, knowing it would only make him look more suspicious, so he strained to remember. They were on the bed...he roughly pulled down her panties and unzipped his pants...he _thought_ he heard a sound...was it a 'no'? "I think so."

"What do you mean by, "think so"?"

"I mean, I heard a sound coming from her, so it _might_ have been a no, but I'm not _sure."_

"Be definitive, Mr. Lombard: Did you or did you not hear her say no?"

Lombard realized with the funny feeling in his stomach growing sickly that the sound _had_ been a 'no." "Yes, I heard her say no."

"Let me ask you this, Mr. Lombard: If you _heard_ her threaten to scream, and if you _heard_ her say no, clearly indicating she did _not _want to have intercourse with you, why would you ignore those pleas?"

"Objection your honour!"

Lombard barely heard what exactly was being objected; he was feeling dizzy. He _had_ heard her...she _did_ say no...but he did it. No, he _couldn't_ be...

"Mr. Lombard, are you aware Miss Claythorne gave birth to your child just last night?"

"Objection, your honour! The child at hand is irrelevant; just because Miss Claythorne may have been impregnated from that one night does not mean it is a child of rape. Getting a woman pregnant is hardly a crime in itself, after all."

Lombard felt the need to pull out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his forehead once again. Hutchins was wrong. Legally, the child was not relevant to the case. Otherwise, it was relevant to...everything.

After getting past the worst of it, Lombard answered the next few questions swiftly and honestly. Finally, he was permitted to leave. He got up and walked on by, though not feeling as tall and proud as he had before questioning.


	31. Assurance and Agression

31

**Assurance and Agression**

Vera woke up to see a soft ray of sun peek in through the curtains. How long had she slept? She was not sure, but she didn't bother to check on her alarm clock.

It had been six days, nearly a week, since she had given birth to Danielle and gave her to Hugo. This did not stop her from dreaming about running after a baby's cry down a long dark hall to the crib at the end, only to find that the crib was empty.

She had made the wrong decision. She should've kept Danielle; she would've gotten through her problems perfectly fine. But it was too late to take it back; the daughter she could've had was gone and she wouldn't see her again for who knew how long—if she ever saw her again at all.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Vera? It's just about noon."

"Come in," said Vera in an expressionless voice. She closed her eyes, hoping to go back to sleep. She heard the door gently creak open and a pair of footsteps walking across the room. She squinted to see orange colours interrupting the blackness before her eyes. She slowly opened them to see her mother opening the curtains and letting the light in.

Mrs. Claythorne sat on the bed next to Vera. "I've said nothing for the past few days because I wanted to give you some space," she said. "But I think it's time we talked about the baby."

Vera rolled over on her side, hoping her mother would take the hint.

"First, I would like you to know that it's perfectly normal for most women to feel depressed after having a baby," said Mrs. Claythorne. "I could barely drag myself out of bed for two weeks after I had you and your sister. But these are not the happiest circumstances to have a baby under, and I'm just afraid this depression of yours could get worse."

"I'm seeing Dr. Bonet next Friday, mother," muttered Vera.

"I know," said Mrs. Claythorne softly. "But I would like to be the first to talk to you about this. I was afraid you'd regret giving the baby up. From the moment I saw the look on your face when you held Danielle for the first time, I knew this would be hard for you."

"I didn't think it would be _this _hard," said Vera softly. "Danielle came from a night I'm trying to leave behind me, and she would've made it that much harder to forget. And yet...I _loved_ her. I don't know _why,_ but I _loved _her." She wiped the tears from her eyes with her hands. "But if I _really_ loved her, why did I let her go?"

"You let her go _because _you loved her," said Mrs. Claythorne, pulling Vera in for a hug. "Love is a very complicated, tricky thing to understand and it can be messy, but in the end it's worthwhile."

"I know," said Vera quietly. Then, "If I _had_ kept her, would I have been happy?"

"Only _you_ can answer that," said Mrs. Claythorne. "What do you think?"

Vera thought about it before finally saying, "No. I would've taken my anxiety on the trial out on her, and if he were to be found not guilty, I would be resentful towards her." She sighed, "I _know_ this is what's best for her, but I _still_ wish I had kept her."

"Oh, my poor baby," said Mrs. Claythorne softly, giving Vera a tight hug. She pulled back suddenly and said, "Oh, I almost forgot. Wait right here."

She got off the bed and went outside the room. She came back one minute later with a picnic basket with a card taped to it. She gently placed the basket on the bed and said, "Go ahead and open it."

Her curiosity evoked, Vera slowly opened up the basket, which contained a box of chocolates and a bouquet of snowdrop flowers. "How lovely," remarked Vera as a smile slowly made its way across her face for the first time since she held Danielle.

"Now read the card," encouraged Mrs. Claythorne.

Vera closed the lid and gently pried the tape off the card and opened it up. It was blank on the outside, but contained shaky handwriting on the inside:

_Hello Miss Claythorne! It's me, May! Remember me? I'm one of your students at St. Elizabeth's! I really missed you. The new lady's nice, but she's no you. Please come back in the fall! My daddy told me about what's been going on, and I just want you to know you are still my favourite teacher. I hope you'll be happy when you come back. Love, May_

The smile on Vera's face grew wider. Her eyes began to blur with tears. May...she remembered May. A short, awkward girl who looked to be around eight when she was in fact closing in on ten (she supposed May was most likely eleven around now). There would be days where May would come crying to her because she had been teased over her height, or when she needed help with a sport she found difficult. She hadn't taken much thought to any sort of impact she had on her students, but to receive _this..._

"May and her father came by earlier this morning while you were asleep," explained Mrs. Claythorne. "May was _very_ worried about you. She kept asking how you were. Eventually, she and her father had to leave and I assured her you would be perfectly fine."

Vera blinked away her tears and held the card close to her. She now realized her fear of her students no longer respecting her had been foolish. She did not know if May was mature enough to fully understand the severity of her situation, but she felt assured to know she would not be judged when she came back in the fall.

* * *

_It's not my fault._

_Yes it is, and you know it._

_The final part of the trial comes tomorrow and when it does, you will receive assurance it was not your fault._

_No, when the final part of the trial DOES come, you will see yourself for what you truly are: A rapist, just like your father._

"I am not a rapist," said Lombard out loud. He faced his reflection square in the eye. "Do you hear me?" he said a bit loudly. "I—AM NOT—A RAPIST!"

He heard a knock on the door, startling him. Lombard stormed out of the bathroom and burst open the door, ready to tell the person bothering him to go away...and then, he saw his mother. She came in silently, Lombard closing the door behind her. Neither one of them said 'hello', but Carolina did manage to say: "So. I have a granddaughter."

"Morley," muttered Lombard. "Blast!"

"You should be _thanking_ Morley," said Carolina, stepping forward. "I have a right to know about my grandchildren."

"She's gone, mother," said Lombard coldly. "She was given up for adoption at birth."

"I know," said Carolina quietly. "Just like you."

"No," said Lombard, shaking his head. "Not like me. I was put in an _orphanage_; this child is going to a _family."_

"It's no more different than what I went through, Philip," said Carolina.

"Yes it is," nodded Lombard fervently.

"No it's not," said Carolina gently. "I felt I couldn't give you a good life, so I gave you up. That's what this girl is doing; she is ensuring this child will have a better life than she could give it."

"She'd do just fine," muttered Lombard, turning away from his mother.

"No, she wouldn't," said Carolina, taking another step forward. "Don't you see, Philip? This girl is _suffering._ From what I hear, she can't even take care of _herself_ right now. I can only imagine what that poor girl—"

He did it before he could stop himself. Acting on a mixture of emotions—anger, denial, and regret—Lombard spun around and struck his mother across the face. Shaking, he said coldly, "Get out."

Carolina did not move. She looked almost frozen to the spot. Loudly, Lombard shouted: "GET OUT!"

Trembling, Carolina slowly turned around and made her way out of the house closing the door behind her, not once looking back.

Lombard looked down and realized _he _was trembling. He made a mad dash to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet, feeling quite sick. Memories of that night were flooding his senses: Lying in bed drinking...opening the door...giving her a drink...ignoring her trying to tell him to stop, _willingly_ ignoring her protests...ignoring her final cry of "No!" right before taking everything precious away from her...ignoring her soft moans of _pain,_ not pleasure...

Ignorance...how could be so _ignorant?_ So _blind_ to _everything?_

Almost immediately after, memories of the past nine months flooded his brain: Being questioned by the police...repeatedly denying the accusation against him...stalking Vera only to learn of her pregnancy...his utter humiliation and near _destruction _of her...

He collapsed to the floor and tried to calm himself done. He squeezed his eyes shut and an image of Vera Claythorne came to mind. Only, she did not come to mind for his fantasies; no, the Vera Claythorne that came to mind was the Vera Claythorne had had tortured, the Vera Claythorne whom he had inflicted needless suffering onto for months. He saw her humiliated, tear-stricken face that day he had exposed her secret to innocent bystanders...he _heard_ her sobs from the day he _really_ took his mother's advice...

His _mother._ God, his _mother._ There _had_ been truth in what she had said...

Lombard closed his eyes and curled into a fetal position on the floor, praying for the final day of the trial tomorrow to be over and done with.


	32. The Trial Act Three

32

**The Trial (Act Three)**

Evelyn sat on the edge of her bed, still wearing her nightgown. She was waiting for Richard to come out of the bathroom, for she had a few words to say to him before she went off for the trial (and she still had about twenty-five minutes before having to leave). She could not wait until coming home to talk to him, because she feared she might not get another chance.

Finally, Richard came out of the bathroom the couple shared, fully dressed in casual clothes to baby-sit Derek in for today. He said, "Why Evelyn, you're not dressed yet."

"I have some time," said Evelyn, wringing her hands. "I've been thinking...I don't want this tension between us anymore. I would appreciate it very much if we started speaking to each other for more than five minutes." She stood up and said, "I would just like to say I'm sorry. I've been trying to spend more time with Derek recently, but my sister needs me. I can only imagine what she must be feeling after...last week..."

"I would like to apologize, too," said Richard, stepping forward. "I let my emotions get the better of me that day. I don't have a brother or sister so I never really understood. But now I realize that there are some things you talk about with other people more than most." He smiled and gave Evelyn a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Now get dressed and ready for the trial, darling."

Evelyn returned that kiss and said, "Goodbye, Richard. I love you."

She smiled as Richard left their room and closed the door. After she had changed, when she was absolutely sure he would not burst in unexpectedly, she walked over to their closet and stood on her tiptoes. She carefully pulled down a small box which she opened to reveal a small handgun. Smiling, she pulled the handgun out and slipped it into her coat pocket. If that bastard were to be found not guilty, she was ready.

* * *

"Here we are," muttered Vera as she stood outside the court doors with her family. "The last day."

"Remember, dear," said Mr. Claythorne, "no matter what happens, just feel proud knowing you had the courage to face him down in court."

"At least he won't be able to harm the baby either way," sighed Vera.

Mrs. Claythorne hissed, "Here he comes!"

The four of them slowly backed up. Vera turned her head to see Lombard walking down the corridor. She felt her mother's arms wrap tightly around her, feeling a little bit more secure. His eyes met hers, but she did not back down. She stood her ground and simply let him know with her eyes she was not afraid of him. With that, Lombard entered the courtroom ahead of them.

Vera relaxed and felt her mother's arms loosen. She felt her sister's hand squeeze her shoulder. "Don't worry," said Evelyn firmly. "Even if he's found innocent, I'll make sure he can't harm you."

"You're not going to do anything drastic, are you?" asked Mrs. Claythorne, remembering the intensity in Evelyn's emotions whenever their conversations would move to the trial.

Evelyn smiled. "Of course not, mother."

* * *

The courtroom felt unusually cold that day. No one knew if it was because of the weather, or the anticipation of the outcome. Mr. James was the first to go up. His voice boomed across the court: "Ladies and gentlemen, within the past week, nearly all rumours spread around town have been dispelled. You have all seen and heard the testimony of Mr. Lombard, and of Miss Claythorne. Allow me to ask you this: If any of you were put under severe psychological torture, would you be in a sound, stable condition? Would you be able to foresee the consequences of walking down a dark, harrowing corridor into another person's room? A person whose intoxication you had no knowledge of prior to that moment?"

Mr. James took a pause as though to let that sink in before continuing: "Miss Claythorne has answered every question presented to her with honesty. She kept her facts straight and never once changed a word of her testimony. And she managed to make it both times she was due in court in spite of her pregnancy going past her due date and thus being at risk for labour, and recovery from childbirth. And, as my wife can tell you," he lightly chuckled, "the latter is no easy task."

Vera was reminded all too strongly of the day she had been exonerated. She put that day out of her mind, looking and feeling humble.

"Whether or not she ever slept with anyone else prior to Nigger Island is not relevant," Mr. James went on. "What's relevant is that she has shown herself to have a strong moral character. Mr. Lombard, in contrast, has made frequent contradictions to his testimony. In addition to, he has a rather shady reputation. Many, many times he has had near-brushes with the law, committing acts that were not illegal, but not within the law. This time, he has gone too far. What kind of man would humiliate some poor girl who was already unstable? Why would any man dance around certain facts if they were not true? Most importantly, would a good, sane man rather sleep with a woman who was saying yes and urging him to go on, or with a woman who was saying no and pleading him to stop? Think about that."

Vera felt her face go warm. He had given her _far_ more praise than she deserved, but if it helped put that man behind bars...

Now it was Mr. Hutchins' turn to go up. Mrs. Claythorne hissed in Evelyn's ear, "Keep in mind he's only doing his job." Evelyn nodded.

Mr. Hutchins stepped forward and said, "What Mr. James tells you is the truth. Miss Claythorne may have a strong moral character, true. She may not have been able to foresee what would happen, true. _But,_ would anyone in that state of mind be able to get their facts straight? Would they act calm and rational when help came, or would they go flying off the handle?"

He smiled sympathetically and said, "I have nothing but pity for Miss Claythorne, to go through such mental agony she was driven to believe Mr. Lombard would force himself on her. Admittedly yes, intercourse _did_ take place, as the medical evidence and newly born child prove. But not every child is a child of rape. Some children can be born from a one-night stand, a moment of insanity, if you will. A moment where two people, neither with clear judgment, allow their emotions and desires to get the better of them.

"Say what you will about Mr. Lombard's legal activities, but he always knew better than to sail within the law. This is no exception. Even if Miss Claythorne _thought_ it was rape, it is more than likely she just made an honest mistake. People are only human, after all. Mr. Lombard may be guilty of a one-night stand that got a bit out of hand, but he is most certainly _not_ guilty of rape."

Evelyn bit her lip so hard she felt her teeth dig deep into the skin, biting the dry bits off. She was tempted to whip out Richard's gun right there and then, but told herself to wait.

"Your honour," spoke up Lombard, standing up, much to everyone's surprise. "There is one last thing I would like to say."

Lombard looked around the court before his eyes landed on Evelyn. He knew what he had to do, and he was most certainly _not_ going to do it with a whimper. He smirked and loudly announced, "Your sister was the greatest whore I ever had!"

Everyone in court gasped at this damning confession. He was willingly admitting to his guilt in court—but _why?_

"And do you know what else?" Lombard went on with a taunting grin on his face. "If she gave me the chance, I would gladly rape her again."

Trembling with anger, Evelyn cried, "You _bastard!"_ She leaped from her seat and whipped out a small handgun from her coat pocket. The smirk on Lombard's face fell. He should've seen _that_ coming.

"Evelyn, no!" cried Vera, leaping up and struggling to get the gun out of Evelyn's hand. To Lombard's luck, the gun only had two bullets and thanks to Vera's intervention, both wound up fired in the ceiling. Lombard seized the opportunity and made a mad dash out of the court room and down the corridor.

"I'm getting too old for this," muttered the judge, thankful that retirement was just around the corner.


	33. The Trial Curtain

33

**The Trial (Curtain)**

At last, Lombard made it just outside the building and around the corner. He closed his eyes and stopped long enough to catch his breath. He had finished the first step of his plan: Admitting to his guilt in court so that everyone would know the truth. He hadn't planned on doing the next step until later tonight, but the melee in court was forcing him to take action.

Using one hand, he felt around his pants until he came to the pocket he needed. He slipped that hand inside the pocket until it brushed against an object. He curled his fingers under that object and slowly pulled it out. He opened his eyes. It was his gun.

Trembling, he held the gun close to him. He couldn't go on living like this. If he went to prison, he would most likely get what was coming to him. And when he got out, life would just keep getting worse for him. Who would want to hire a rapist for any sort of work field? Who would willingly associate themselves with the likes of him? Who could ever _love_ him?

His mother...he had seen a brief glimpse of her in court...she had been there...he just realized...

_His mother..._

In that moment Lombard did not care in the slightest about his dignity. He dropped the gun onto the ground, buried his face in his hands and wept, thinking, _I am a rapist. Just like my father_.

He only wept briefly before realizing he may have limited time before being caught and sent off to prison. He took his hands away from his face. He bent down and picked up the gun, stroking it like a cat. Trembling, he put the wretched thing in his mouth...

Alarmed, he pulled it out. He had to see the sun one last time...he had to _feel_ the sun he had taken advantage of so many times, never stopping to appreciate just how _beautiful_ life really was...it didn't look like the sun would be out much longer, though. It looked like it was going to rain.

He was startled by the sound of footsteps coming out of the courthouse. Without a second to spare, he pressed the gun to his head, pulled the trigger...

...and only heard a _click_ sound.

"Dammit," muttered Lombard, jerking the gun away from his head. It was _jammed._ Why didn't he check it beforehand? Stupid him.

The footsteps had stopped. Lombard looked up...and saw her.

Vera Claythorne.

The two stood at a distance before Lombard spoke: "Here we are. It all ends here."

"Yes," said Vera, nodding. "It all ends here."

"What's her name?" asked Lombard.

A look of surprise flickered across Vera's face. Then, she calmly said, "Danielle."

"Danielle," said Lombard softly. "A French name."

"You'll never get to see her," said Vera softly. "Never. So don't even _try..."_

"Which family did you give her up to?" asked Lombard calmly.

Vera seemed to freeze up, as though in a panic, before replying, "It was a closed adoption. I don't know who she's with or if they're even around here."

"You're lying," said Lombard, taking a few steps closer. "Your eyes tell it all. And if you had no say in her family, how could you know her name?"

"I...it's the name I _prefer_ to call her," said Vera slowly. "In my heart."

"Your eyes aren't as convincing as your words," remarked Lombard.

"Even if I _did_ know which family she was with," said Vera, ignoring this remark, "I'd rather _die_ than tell you."

"So you _do_ know where she is!" exclaimed Lombard, coming in even closer.

To his great surprise, Vera grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the brick wall. The world around him tilted on one side and his head at least _felt_ like it had split open. When everything came to, he saw Vera Claythorne with a dangerously calm look in her green eyes which were now ablaze.

"If you _ever_ come anywhere _near_ my daughter," said Vera in a threatening tone, "I will not call the police. I will take care of you myself. And anything _I _do to you, I can assure you, will be ten times worse than whatever the police may do. Nod if you understand."

Deciding arguing would not be wisest course of action, Lombard nodded. Vera's grip on him loosened somewhat.

Lombard's head turned at the sound of footsteps. He turned back to Vera and grinned wickedly. So he wasn't going to die today. Fine by him. But that didn't mean he wasn't going down without a fight. He grabbed Vera by the shoulders and, within two seconds, swapped it around so that _he_ was holding _her_ against the brick wall. He brought his mouth upon hers and tried lifting up her blouse with one of his other hands..._but it was the wrong hand._

Lombard was not entirely sure of what happened in the next few seconds. He was only aware of one hand trying to push him off, and another grabbing something out of his hands, something jabbing into his gut, the sound of something sharp, a cry of pain, and collapsing to the grass, seeing the gray skies slowly roll in.

He saw Vera Claythorne standing above him, shaking, holding a smoking gun.

_His_ gun.

The world around Lombard began to see the images around him form a fuzzy outline. He could feel himself fading fast...she was a good shot...

Somehow, he found himself saying only two words: "I'm sorry."

The last thing he heard was Vera Claythorne saying, "I know you are."

And the gray above him slowly began to fade into black...

* * *

Vera Claythorne was trembling. All around her, people were shouting, "What happened?" "Where is he?" She could only stare at the sight of Philip Lombard's body, a pool of blood slowly making its way around him.

He was dead. He could no longer hurt her, nor did she have to worry about him trying to find the baby if he ever got out.

And she had killed him.

She was brought out of her trance by raindrops falling on her head. She was now aware her parents had placed a blanket around her shoulders. "Come inside, sweetie," said her mother gently. "It's over now."

* * *

Vera lay curled up in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. The rain continued to pour hard outside and the events of today raced through her mind: The summation...Lombard's confession...her sister's attempted shooting and subsequent arrest for attempted murder...her confrontation...acting on her instincts to get Lombard _off_ of her...

At the time, it hadn't even occurred to her that shooting him would prevent him from going after her little girl. She had merely been thinking of _some _way to get him away from her...and it worked.

Vera heard the door creak open. She sat up and saw her mother come in with a steaming mug of something. "I made you some hot chocolate," she said, sitting in bed next to Vera. "I thought you would need it."

"Thank you," said Vera, taking the mug out of her mother's hands and placing it on the nightstand to let it cool off. "Is there anything new on Evelyn?"

"Well, it's possible she _might_ be let off on account of temporary insanity," said Mrs. Claythorne, who couldn't help but smile. "That sister of yours. She cares for you more than she should. And nothing's going to happen to you; the judge knows it was self-defence."

Vera needed to get one more thing cleared up: "If...if I hadn't shot him...what would the verdict have been?"

Mrs. Claythorne paused. "I had a talk with the judge before leaving. Are you sure you _really _want to know?"

Vera nodded. "Yes, mother. I do."

It was then that Mrs. Claythorne uttered the words that shocked Vera:

"He would have been found guilty."


	34. Nine Years Later

34

**Nine Years Later**

_Brrrring!_

Vera slapped the alarm clock at her bedside. She stretched her arms and yawned, slowly sitting up in bed. She blinked her eyes open and looked around. Everything was the same. Not a thing had changed since last night. The full-length mirror was in one corner of her room. The wardrobe was just against the wall near the door. The walls were the same, paste-green colour. Yes, everything was the same...but with one, major difference: The sound of the shower running.

Smiling, she slowly slid her legs out of bed. She placed each foot onto the warm, fuzzy green carpet. She stood up and smoothed out the front of her white, sleeveless nightgown held up by straps that was just a bit shorter than usual (well, it _was_ summer, after all). Her husband would be out of the shower any minute now. Should she surprise him with a morning treat? Or use this time to get dressed? Perhaps she should get dressed; he already got last night's worth.

Vera strolled about the bedroom before stopping in front of the mirror. It had been a while since she _really _stopped to look in the mirror for purposes other than getting ready to go out somewhere. Today was August the eleventh. It was exactly ten years since she had been raped and impregnated. Had she changed much since then?

Vera took the time to really _look_ at herself in the mirror. She ran one hand through her hair, now vibrant and full of colour, unlike ten years ago when it began to grow dull and lifeless. Much like...her. The rape had nearly _destroyed_ her spirit...or at least, what had been left of it after that weekend. She honestly thought her life would never get better after that. She would just wait in bed day after day, waiting to die.

Her hands moved down to her stomach, which she softly rubbed. Finding out she was pregnant from rape had not been the happiest experience of her life. Her first child...a child of _rape..._she never dreamed it would happen to _her..._and yet it did. She had been in shock after finding out. She had hoped that if she just ignored it, she would wake up and it would all just be a dream. But the pregnancy went on...it continued until she gave birth to little Danielle, who wasn't so little anymore.

Her left hand moved to her right arm. She stroked the places where the scars were now non-existent. They had healed over the years and the only physical scar she bore right now was the scar on her left knee from a rather rough bike ride she and her husband had taken together last year. Even though the scars were no longer there, she still turned her thoughts to them from time to time. She would wince at how she had lashed out at her mother, who had been nothing but kindness ever since she had found out.

Her hands moved to her face before landing at her sides. She looked deep into her green-eyed reflection in the mirror. Many times before, she did not recognize the woman in the mirror. Now, she did recognize that woman, only she was no whore. She was...a woman of experience, who had grown and learned from her trials and tribulations.

A survivor.

The door to the bathroom opened. Vera turned around and saw her husband came out, wearing a bathrobe. He smiled and walked up to Vera. He said, "Morning, Vera." He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Morning, Harry," said Vera, returning the peck with a deep, passionate kiss. As she began to recover over the years, she started attending church again in 1942, hoping to re-discover a part of herself. It was at church she met Harry Delaney, an Irishman who had moved to England to escape the escalating religious conflict in Ireland. As time went on, Vera slowly began to trust men once more and started seeing more and more of Harry before finally becoming engaged to him and marrying him the following year. He had learned of her past on their wedding night, and agreed to wait until Vera was ready before consummation.

"So," said Vera, with a seductive grin. "Do we have enough time for a quick love making session?"

"I would," sighed Harry. "But we have to get ready for our visitor, remember?"

"Oh, right," sighed Vera, deciding this could wait another day.

* * *

Vera walked down the upstairs hall, now fully dressed. She gently pushed open the door to the nearest bedroom and walked in. She sat by the bed and smiled at the sleeping figure, lightly brushing his bangs off his forehead. She gently slipped a finger into his sleeping hand, remembering the days when her finger was too big for his hand.

It had taken Vera five years to finally be comfortable with having sex. It had just suddenly occurred to her one day that she no longer feared being alone with men, she no longer had any flashbacks to that night, she felt comfortable wearing clothes that she would've once viewed as 'provocative', and most of all, she longed to have a child she could truly call her own. And so it was that night she approached Harry and told him of her desire to have a baby. When he asked if she was sure, her response was, "I've never been more sure of anything in my whole life."

The moment was the exact opposite of everything that night had been. Harry was not rough; he was gentle, and went at the pace Vera felt most comfortable with. And the actual _moment_ itself..._oh._ She had learned that night just how truly wonderful sex could be with the right man. And the result of her willing to let go was lying right here before her.

Her son, Peter.

Peter's eyes fluttered open. "Mummy?" he said sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"Rest, my darling," said Vera gently. Peter was only a boy of four and he needed his rest, after all.

Peter yawned and closed his eyes.

Vera stood up and turned around to leave...only to see her daughter, Christine, standing in the doorway. Christine was only two years old and already, she had the spirit of a young pixie about her. "Mummy?" she said. "What's for breakfast?"

"Go back to bed, my sweet," said Vera, bending down to Christine's size, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "It's still a bit early yet."

"When's Danny coming?" asked Christine.

Vera smiled, remembering her letter to Hugo a few years ago asking to come to the agreement that Danielle would be dropped off at her house for two weeks every summer. She had willingly complied to it for the past three years and now would be coming a bit later this morning. "It's a few hours yet," said Vera, giving Christine a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Now go back to bed for a few more minutes."

* * *

At around eleven o'clock, Vera was sitting around the dining table conversing with her parents and sister while Peter and Christine played outside in the backyard with their father, Derek, and Derek's younger sister, Ann. "According to Hugo's letter," said Vera, "Danielle is now into football."

"Ah, I'll have plenty of stories to share with her about my good old glory days," said Mr. Claythorne proudly.

"I've _seen _you play, Fred," laughed Mrs. Claythorne. "If I were you, Vera, I would hide the good china!"

Vera laughed until Evelyn said softly, "Ten years. It's been ten years. How do you feel?"

"Different," said Vera honestly.

_Knock-knock-knock._

"Is that Danielle already?" asked Mrs. Claythorne as Vera stood up. "She's not supposed to be arriving for another few minutes."

"Well, maybe she came earlier this time," said Vera over her shoulder. She opened the door...and saw two people she barely recognized. There was a man with smooth, black hair combed back. On his side stood a woman with blonde hair that seemed to be a faint light brown colour, as though she had been dying it. She could've sworn she saw them _some_where, but _where?_

"Are you Vera Claythorne?" asked the man.

"It's Vera Delaney, now," said Vera. "Why?"

"We're here to talk to you about something," said the woman.

"Well, come on in," said Vera. She gestured for them to come indoors and they did. She closed the door behind them, wondering just what it was they wanted.

"We have some unexpected visitors," said Vera, giving the two guests a seat around the dining table. She sat down across them, feeling a bit drained all of a sudden.

"Do you recall the rape trial fiasco from nine years ago?" asked the woman.

Vera nodded slowly.

"That day has haunted us more than you know," said the man softly. "We try _not_ to think about it, but we do. You see...we knew that man."

"That man?" whispered Vera, wringing her hands.

"Philip Lombard," said the man.

Vera felt her eyes widen. She had stopped wringing her hands, for they were now trembling.

"You _knew_ him?" said Evelyn suspiciously.

"Yes," said the woman. "This man, sitting right here before you, is Charles Morley. He and Lombard were friends growing up. And I," she gestured to herself, "am Carolina Lombard. Philip's mother."

"You," whispered Mr. Claythorne darkly. "Get out. Both of you. _Now."_

"Before we leave," said Carolina, raising a hand, "we would just like to say a few words."

Mr. Claythorne's eyes met his wife's. "Fine," he said. "But make it quick."

"Actually," said Carolina, "we came here to apologize."

"For what?" asked Vera.

"For Phil's actions," said Morley, looking down at the wooden table. "He was not a bad man. I grew up with him, you see. And I can tell you from my personal experience that he was _not_ a monster."

Evelyn snorted.

"Evelyn," said Mrs. Claythorne sharply.

"You expect us to believe someone who would _rape_ some innocent girl, and then _mentally torture _and _humiliate_ her is _not _a monster?" said Evelyn snidely.

"You didn't know him the way _I_ did," said Morley calmly. "Phil made several mistakes before, but that was the _only_ instance where he did something downright immoral. Other times, yes, he was ambiguously moral, but that was the _one_ time he did something downright evil."

"And can I take your word for it?" said Evelyn coolly. "How do I know you weren't his partner in crime?"

"Evelyn," said Vera calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder, which seemed to calm her down a bit. "He wasn't there when that man...did those things." She turned to Morley. "You'll have to forgive my sister. It was a _very_ rough time for me and she witnessed my suffering firsthand."

"I understand," spoke up Carolina. "It must've been a horrible time for you, wasn't it? When you felt you were the only one going through it, that no one else understood you, that it was your fault?"

"And how could you possibly know what my sister went through?" said Evelyn coldly.

"Because," said Carolina, her eyes revealing a deep sadness, "it's what I went through when having my Philip."

There was a cold silence across the table. Everyone took a minute to let that statement sink in before Vera said, "So...history was repeating itself."

"I don't think it will with your child, dear," said Carolina gently. "I gave Philip over to an orphanage, not knowing _how_ he would grow up. You gave your child over to someone you trust enough to do an adequate job, am I correct?"

Vera nodded. "Yes."

_Knock-knock-knock._

"That must be her, now," said Vera, standing up. She went over to open the door, and when she did, she found Hugo standing in the doorway with a nine-year-old girl with long, vivid brown hair and hopeful green eyes.

Danielle Hamilton.

"Mummy!" squealed Danielle, throwing her arms around Vera's waist. Vera bent down to Danielle's size and gave her a tight squeeze. Her eyes met Hugo's. Danielle knew Vera was her birth mother, and that Hugo's current wife was her "step mummy". What she did not know was the identity of her true father, nor the circumstances surrounding her existence. Vera and Hugo had agreed Danielle would be told the truth when they felt she was mature enough to handle it. For now, though, she would live happy and carefree.

Vera let go of Danielle and stood up. She no longer had to bend down very low; Danielle was getting to be quite tall. "My, you're growing like a weed," Vera remarked. Then, "Why don't you and daddy come in?"

Hugo and Danielle came in after Vera. She closed the door behind them and said, "Danielle, there is someone very special I would like you to meet." She walked up to Carolina and said, "Danielle, this is Carolina. Carolina, this is Danielle."

A look of surprise flicked across Carolina's face. Then, she smiled warmly and shook Danielle's hand. "How do you do?" she said.

"Oh, perfectly fine, thanks," replied Danielle. "And you?"

A tear made its way down Carolina's cheek. "Just swell."

* * *

After the family had left in the evening, after Mrs. Claythorne made her custom tearful hello, after Mr. Claythorne had taught Danielle how to play football, and after Evelyn had told Danielle stories from her childhood, Vera sat on the back porch on Harry's mother's rocking chair, watching the red sun go down. It was not the colour of blood; no, it was the colour of something much cheerier.

Her head turned at the sound of footsteps coming outside. Out came Danielle, who looked a bit worn out. "Mummy," she said, "is it okay if I sit with you out here for a few minutes?"

"Of course," said Vera softly. "Do you like your stay here so far?"

"Oh yes!" nodded Danielle, sitting in Vera's lap. "I love it here! I wish I could stay forever!"

Vera smiled a bittersweet smile. "That makes two of us, darling," she said softly. "But it's better off this way. It really is."

"But _why?"_ asked Danielle, looking up.

"Because," said Vera, "you have school back in Scotland. And you have your friends. And what about daddy? You wouldn't want to leave _him_ behind, would you?"

"Of course not," sighed Danielle.

"Your daddy's been very good to you, you know," said Vera, silently adding, _Much better than your real daddy would be._

"I suppose," shrugged Danielle. She yawned and lay her head on Vera's shoulder. Vera blinked, and two tears rolled down her cheeks. She planted a soft kiss on Danielle's head. She had days where she wondered what her life would be like now if she had kept Danielle, but she knew deep down that she had made the right decision.

But it was no longer an obsession of hers. Her thoughts would turn to it from time to time, but she knew that no matter what obstacles were thrown her way next in life, she would be able to face it head on, for she was no longer a victim.

She was a survivor.

**THE END**

_Credit song: __All I Need__ by Within Temptation_

_Quote: Some of us sail through our troubles/And some have to live with the scars—Elton John, __The Circle of Life__ from the movie __The Lion King_

**A/N: And so here I am, wrapping up a story that may not have an extraordinary amount of reviews, but still a story I am deeply satisfied and pleased with nonetheless, whether or not others are satisfied. I am not quite sure if this is a story needing a backstory or not; unlike the epilogue for "And Then There Were Two", this I think answers all questions. As for other notes...the credit song came close to being "Fighter" by Christina Aguilera, but ultimately, "All I Need" makes me think of this story's ending.**


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